


The House Sitter

by paintedskullfairy



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Falling In Love, Freeform, House Sitting, Romance, Slow Burn, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 16:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14116773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedskullfairy/pseuds/paintedskullfairy
Summary: Bog has it sorted as a house sitter.Not only does he get to live in luxury at the Faegold Mansion, but he doesn’t have to worry about rent, money and certainly not his intruding mother.The next 18 months are going to be bliss.That is until the eldest Faegold daughter returns home, earlier than expected - with swollen eyes and a broken heart.If Bog thought he was going to live a quiet life - he was so wrong.





	1. The Faegold Mansion

"It's bloody massive!"  

"Mansion  _is_  in the title."  

"I thought that was just a place name, like how people call buildings 'lakeside cottage' when really they are a one bedroom apartment in the city." Bog responded, shocked at the vastness of his new abode. 

He couldn't believe that for the next eighteen months  _this_ was to be his house. 

The taxi driver, a stout man with slicked-back hair and his seat very far forward to accommodate his short legs, shrugged before leaning over his shoulder to speak to Bog. At this point, Bog's face was still firmly attached to the backseat window, but as the man spoke, Bog diverted his attention.

"I'm not one for gossip, but Pat Plum, who works at the local supermarket said that this is only one of many houses that the Faegold's own – that's where the family are now apparently, out in some far off exotic place for a wedding or something or other."  

Bog nodded, remembering the short and blunt phone conversation with a gruffly Mr Faegold.  

Eager to investigate the house, Bog exited the vehicle and went around to make a start unloading his gear. Since being told by Mr Faegold that the house would already come with all the utensils, Bog only had to bring a couple of bags and boxes. Not that he owned much anyway, he was a veteran when it came to house sitting and lived a minimalistic yet comfortable lifestyle. 

As he began to unload, he found himself drawn to the house. With a small tightly packed box under one arm, he continued to stare up at the mansion. He hadn't realised that the taxi driver had been talking to him all this time.

"How long are you staying here then?" He asked chipperly, ignorant that he had fallen on deaf ears.

Tearing his eyes away Bog responded. "Eighteen months."  

"A whole year and a bit!" Exclaimed the driver, "well, I'm sure you'll settle in nicely in our small town. We don't have a lot, but what we do have is the best."  

Bog acknowledged how sure of himself the man was, yet he appreciated the friendly atmosphere. He stayed in some places that were far more... uninviting.  

"Fae Mart, the local supermarket is not a far walk, and that will have everything you'll need." The driver rambled on as he helped Bog carry some boxes to the doorstep of the mansion, leaving them nestled neatly on the polished porch that marked the grand entrance. 

"Now, that's everything..." He commented as Bog walked beside him back to his car. "I feel like I am forgetting something..."  

With a small grunt, he slid into the driver's seat, a puzzled look on his face as he tried to chase a thought.  

He was about to pull away when Bog realised he hadn't paid him, pulling out a crumpled note, he thanked the driver and told him to keep the change. 

"I honestly would forget my head if it wasn't screwed on. Oh, and in case I see you in town, the names Thom, Thom Thang."  

"Bog," he responded with an indicating nod, "I'll see you around Thom."  

With a small wave, the car pulled away and made its way back down the dirt track that was the only route to and from the town.  

Still in awe, Bog wondered what it would be like to officially own a home like this. Surely, he thought, upkeep would be a considerable fee – but nothing seemed aged or in need of repair. 

The trees and flowers that lined the hill in which the mansion was seated on were in full bloom and the exterior of the house showed no signs of wear and tear. 

The white paint that coated the exterior was as fresh as if the house was only just painted yesterday. Large glass windows on both the ground and upper floors shone and gleamed in the spring sun, their inside's hidden behind thick curtains. 

Climbing up the porch steps, Bog turned to appreciate his new surroundings. In the distance, he could make out the town and the road that led down into it. He was certain that from one of the top windows he would be able to get a better view, thinking that sunrises and sunsets here were most likely breathtakingly beautiful.

Bog also made note of how isolated it could get up here in the Faegold Mansion, and to him, after a lifetime of distractions – that was utterly perfect.    


 

***   
  
 

The semi-modern mansion even had a grand staircase that curled up from the ground floor, but it was new in design Bog interpreted as he inspected the woodwork. 

While there weren't the hundreds of rooms as you would have initially thought, they made up for them in size. The kitchen, with state of the art technology, had to be the most colossal-sized kitchen Bog had ever seen.  

The next few hours, after bringing his boxes inside were spent wandered around, becoming familiar with the house - starting with the ground floor. Once satisfied with the layout and confident he would be able to navigate at night, Bog made his way upstairs.  

The upstairs featured a long corridor, with doors spanning off from it. The first few doors Bog opened appeared to be guest rooms each with their own ensuite. As Bog made his way down the corridor, he opened one door to find himself greeted by a pale pink room, featuring a large bed decorated with a variety of throws and pillows and a large vanity on the other side of the room.  

"Must be one of the daughter's rooms." Bog mumbled to himself, as he eyed the empty perfume bottles arranged delicately on the shelves. 

He knew little to nothing about the occupants whom he was house sitting for, aside from that the family consisted of just Mr Faegold and his two daughters. He didn't even know how old the girls were, not that that mattered. 

Bog exited the room, closing the door behind him and continued his exploration, coming across the master bedroom in the process.

The room felt empty although still light and inviting. A king-sized bed was situated in the middle, with a cleared desk, drawers and wardrobe dotted around the room. Two bedside tables sat on either side of the bed, with only one seemingly in use. It featured a small lamp, free of dust and a few ornamental pieces that looked as if they were sitting, idly waiting for their master's return. While the other was bare, the surface wiped clean. 

Bog wondered what had happened to Mrs Faegold, had there been one. But it wasn't his job to play detective and unravel mysteries that didn't need to be unravelled, his job was to just keep the house warm and make sure nothing broke. 

The last three rooms were positioned at the other end of the corridor, by a large window that overlooked a sideways view of the town and surrounding country. In one of the rooms, Bog found a similar set up as he did in the guest bedrooms, except this one seemed a little larger and more lived in. A few male clothes were folded neatly to one side, while a stay skirt, dress and suit jacket lay nearby, a vase of dried flowers adorned the window shelf but that was the only noticeable item within the space.

From the set-up Bog got the impression this room was for a couple, but again he didn't pry. 

The last two doors faced opposite of each other, in one he found yet another guest bedroom - with a window seat that gave an almost birdseye view over the town. The woven rug that covered the wood panelled floor reminded him of the carpets his eccentric mother had owned while he was growing up.

Leaving that room behind, he finally came to the last door in the whole house he had not yet opened. He had suspected to across another room similar to the pink one, but instead, he was greeted by the walls covered with hundreds of books, some of their titles sounding familiar and others that seemed almost foreign.

With a closer inspection, Bog realised that the shelves underneath the books were filled with films and CD's, ranging from the traditional, more well-known classics to obscure and wacky indie hits. The bedsheets were the shade if deep, plush purple and a handmade knitted cushion sat pride of place. This room also featured a window seat, a few cushions, that looked as if they were borrowed from the pink room, were planted to add extra comfort as you looked out into the gardens and the grounds that lay beyond that.

For a moment, Bog sat down. He hadn't planned too, but he had spent the best part of the day exploring. Through the window, the last rays of the setting sun were dancing across the acres of Faegold land and into the room, highlight sections of the overflowing walls. 

With a yawn, Bog decided that his next course of action was to unpack the essentials, eat one of the microwave meals he had brought with him and get a decent's night sleep before unpacking fully and heading into town to do some exploration there.

He rose to his feet and closed the door behind him as he made his way back downstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. 

The sun coated the whole house in burning golden light while Bog thought to himself merrily that he could get used to living in such luxury. 

  


***   


 

Bog awoke to the sound of birds chirping their merry, morning tune through his bedroom window. Late last night he had decided to call one of the guest rooms his own, choosing the one opposite the room with the horde of literature, film and music as it seemed to have the best view.

As the sunlight warmed up the room, Bog stretched, his limbs clicking as he did so. He was thankful that the bed could accommodate his height, at six foot five, it was a challenge sometimes just to get to sleep in an average-sized bed.  

With proactive intent, Bog made his bed and showered. As the water cascaded down, Bog let his mind wander. The driver, Thom, had seemed nice during their initial meeting, and a friendly face was always great in an unknown neighbourhood. But Bog always had trouble when it came to meeting new people and those crucial first impressions.  

Most of the time people found him intimidating. His height didn't help, as he loomed over people he knew they would look at him with unease. Elongated limbs and the odd scar probably didn't add to the appeal either. 

The best part of his appearance, he would often say to himself when he caught a glimpse in passing mirrors, were his eyes. Bog had inherited his father's infamous crystal-blue eyes that shimmered when he was happy and glazed over when he was sad.  

He looked at them now as he carefully shaved away the stubborn chin stubble that had sprouted overnight.  

They were nice he thought to himself, it was just a shame about the rest of him. 

The remainder of the morning was spent unboxing and finding homes for the few possessions Bog had brought with him, mainly the odd book – he wondered when he had finished them if he could simply make a start on the makeshift library across the way from him. There were bound to be some good titles in the endless shelves that lined the walls.  

Finished with unpacking, Bog got ready to head into town, slipping on his brown leather jacket and headed for the front door just as the doorbell rang. The sound echoed through the whole house and almost made him jump. 

With ease he opened the front door to find a busty, older woman with pristine blonde hair, pinned back into an updo, beaming up at him. 

Before he could even speak, she stepped forward, holding her hand out for him. 

"Hello! You must be the newcomer who moved in yesterday?" She asked, but it seemed as if she already knew that. 

"That's me." Bog said with a forced smile as he shook her manicured hand. 

"Well, I thought you'd probably be lonely up here by yourself, I know I would be." The blonde said with a sly wink, letting her hand drop from the greeting handshake. 

"I'm Pat Plum, I am part of our town's Lil' welcoming committee."  

"Oh, I didn’t know there was a welcoming committee, Thom hadn't mentioned it." 

"Every town has a welcoming committee silly." She almost giggled, giving Bog a playful tap on his arm. 

Bog could name over twenty different towns and cities that he had lived in that had featured no welcoming of any kind, but he didn't want to make any bad impressions.  

"I thought that perhaps I could give you a tour of our town, let you know where all the best places are." 

"I was just heading on down anyway, so that would be great." Bog announced.

The woman almost squealed as she clasped her hands together so that her little handbag, which matched the colour of her tea dress, swung on her forearm. 

"Well, let us make a move and you can tell me a little about yourself on the way down." 

 

*** 

 

"Bog sounds very... _exotic_." Plum said, her arm intertwined with Bog's.  

"My parents were huge fans of the noir classics, so I'm named after Humphrey Bogart, as to why they just didn't call me Humphrey is beyond me." Bog explained. 

Plum laughed, the kind of laugh someone does when you tell an awful joke and they simply pity you. Nevertheless, she kept a firm grip on Bog's arm. 

"So, tell me what it's like in that house." Plum asked, dramatically changing the subject. 

"Oh, well – I've only spent one night there, but it's lovely. The Faegold's have a beautiful home."  

"I'd say." Plum responded dreamily, "who wouldn't want to live in a house like the Faegold Mansion? I supposed the eldest didn't, probably the reason why she got married so quickly."  

Bog turned his head inquisitively. He remembered Thom mentioning how Plum had a habit of gossiping, but a little backstory on the people he was house sitting for couldn't hurt.  

Picking up on his interest, Plum continued.  

"The eldest daughter was a bit of a loose cannon, nothing too drastic but went ever so slightly off the rails after her mum ran off with the gardener." Plum mentioned nonchalantly, checking her nails as she spoke.

"Now, the daughter met this guy, who I must say was a stunner - my god, his body was carved by the gods." She laughed, "but I must say he didn't have eye's like yours." Plum squeezed a little tighter on his arm, and Bog tried to keep her on track.

"The daughter?" He asked.

"Oh yes! Anyway, they were engaged within six months and then all of a sudden the Faegolds were packing up to leave and requesting a house sitter for a year and a half."

She pulled a compact mirror from her bag and began to check her makeup, "It's a pity you'll never meet them. They were lovely girls really, especially the youngest. The eldest was too I guess. She was different alright, different, but lovely."

 

 

*** 

Plum's apparent tour of the town turned out to be nothing more than a few selected shops so that she could tick off her to-do list. It was hardly the show around he had expected, but on the plus side, he knew where the beauticians and hairdresser was.

Before making his way back to the mansion, he was able to slip into the local supermarket before they closed and picked up some milk, eggs and bread - telling himself he would do a full shop tomorrow.

The walk back up the hill didn't take long, the sun was still firmly shining and the evening sky provided Bog with a gorgeous view. As Bog turned the key in the lock, he could really picture himself settling down in a place like this. Even if he was scheduled to move in eighteen months, he could have the most relaxing and stress-free year and a half of his life.

 

 

*** 

 

A loud creak, followed by a short soft one, woke him from his sleep.

Bog stirred and sat up in bed, letting his eyes first adjust to the gloom. As he gradually became more alert, he waited, keeping an open eye for any more sounds of potential trespassers.

Logically, he knew it was both a partially empty and fairly aged house, it was going to make noise regardless.

Still, Bog had been in situations like this before, mainly his early days of house sitting. It always made him nervous to hear unfamiliar sounds in the dead of night.

It was as if he was transported back to being a small child curled up underneath a duvet with only a treasured teddy bear for reassurance.

He stayed upright for a while, but after deciding that it was probably nothing more than the house breathing, Bog rested his head and returned to a peaceful night's sleep.

As Bog showered that morning, he thought of what he could do with his spare time. Since rent was not an issue and he was paid well in advance for his services, Bog found himself with more freedom than he knew what to do with. Perhaps he could find a hobby that he always wanted to try, or even help out in town, that'll win him some brownie points with the locals for sure.

Throwing a towel onto his head, he rubbed his hair dry, before drying off completely and tying the towel loosely around his waist. He ran his crooked fingers through his short hair, stubbornly setting it in place. 

He exited the ensuite and began to rummage around for clothes to wear when he heard the familiar creaking.

Like a prey animal hearing a predator, Bog's ears pricked up and he stayed perfectly still. The creaking became louder as if someone was walking along the corridor just outside his door. Their steps were quiet as if they didn't want to be heard.

Bog swallowed and edged nearer the door, making sure to tread with as minimal sound as possible so to not alert the potential intruder. 

Slowly he turned the handle, pushing the door ajar and peeking down the upstairs hallway.

The corridor was empty, nothing but the early rays of sun shining through, it was as peaceful as the day he moved in.

With a sigh and a kick at himself for being so jumpy, Bog fully opened the door and walked out onto the landing.

That was when he felt something smack him on the back of his head. It was a dull blow, but still unexpected enough to make him stumble.

He wobbled forward, bringing his arms up over his head for protection. He wheeled around just in time to see someone bring something down again with force. Thankfully, he dodged.

"GET OUT!" a voice shrieked, raising the heavy object above their head for yet another blow.

"Get out?!" Bog cried, "It's my house!" He cautiously lowered his arms to see a young woman, her arms extended above her head, holding a heavy book tightly.

She paled.

"Oh god." She whispered, lowering the book so that she was now clutching it to her chest. "Shit, you're the house sitter aren't you?" 

"Yes." Bog answered firmly, rubbing the small lump at the back of his head. "I am." 

The woman stood awkwardly, her eyes swollen and red and her long hair a mattered mess as if she hadn't brushed it for days. Bog had no clue who she was, maybe she was someone from the town? After the Plum experience yesterday he had half expected someone to be knocking in the early hours insisting on a tour around the mansion. 

"I'm sorry, I forgot anyone would be here."

Bog frowned, still unsure about the randomer. "How did you even get in? Everything's locked." 

"Well, I just used my own key." 

"Why do you have a key?" Bog asked, thinking that perhaps she tended to the gardens. There was no mention of anyone else but him using the house during the time the Faegold's were away though.

"Why wouldn't I have a key to my own house?" The woman asked, her puffy eyes squinted slightly.

"Your own..." Bog trailed off as a lightbulb shone above his head, "You're a Faegold?!"

She nodded, biting her lip as she did so. "That's me."

Instantly a worry crossed Bog's mind. The Faegold's weren't supposed to be back for another eighteen months, if they came back now, Bog had nowhere to go. His plans would fall through and he'd essentially be homeless. 

"Why are you here?" 

"I... I couldn't be there anymore." The Faegold answered, her voice a low whisper.

"Be where?-" 

"I'd appreciate it if we didn't talk about it now." She paused but followed up with, "I'm sorry I hit you with a book, I honestly forgot Dad had hired someone to stay here while we were gone. Now I'm at a loss for what to do..." 

The woman trailed off, her voice wavering as if she might begin to cry. Bog had never been good at handling these kinds of situations, so in an awkward yet friendly fashion, he simply held out his hand.

"Bog."  

"Marianne." She sniffed, reaching out and shaking his hand with hers.

She smiled weakly and then instantly went bright red, her cheeks looking as if they were on fire as she pulled her hand away.

"You're... err... I think the towel..." Marianne pointed to the floor but kept her eyes upwards. Bog followed her direction and saw the towel that had been tied around his waist now lying in a heap on the floor.

Bog looked down in shock horror and realised he was standing there naked, the blush burned his cheeks as he darted back into his room.

Fighting the urge to die from embarrassment, Bog quickly threw on whatever clothes were nearby as fast as he could.

Outside his door, Marianne looked down at the book she had used as a makeshift self-defence weapon. She felt awful that she had not only attacked him but also made him lose his towel and expose himself in the process.

She reentered her room and placed the book back on its shelf, tracing the spine carefully with her index finger. 

With a sigh, Marianne thought about what she was going to do. She had run back home to escape her problems, but with someone else here it made it all the more problematic. 

He wouldn't want her here, she was essentially his boss!

Maybe she could talk to him and come to some sort of arrangement? She didn't need long, just a while to get her head cleared. 

It was the only plan she could think of, it wasn't like she was going to kick him out, that would be cruel.

With her stomach churning and her heart heavy, Marianne exited her room and knocked lightly on the door of where the naked house sitter had retreated too.

After a moment, his head carefully poked out from the door with caution as if he was worried she'd hit him again. Marianne noted how the blue of his eyes contrasted with the crimson of his skin. 

"Bog?" She asked, testing out his name. "We need to talk."

 


	2. A Temporary Arrangement

Marianne clasped at the mug that sat on the table in front of her, her hands fitted tightly around it, some fingers slipped underneath the porcelain handle.

Bog could tell she felt uncomfortable, her hands were clenched so hard that the whiteness of her skin matched the mug almost exactly. If it wasn't her own homeware in her hand, Bog would have been concerned that she might shatter it to pieces.

Not knowing how to proceed, Bog took another sip from his own drink, grateful that the action somewhat broke the awkward tension.

"So," Bog began, his eyes wandering everywhere around the room but the woman in front of him. "You, er, wanted to talk?"

Marianne cleared her throat and shifted awkwardly in her chair, pulling the sleeves of her mauve cardigan down over her hands to the best of her ability.

"I need to stay here for a while." She started, "I don't have anywhere else I  _can_ go. I get that this might go against a contract or something, but I don't have any other options."

By her reluctance to discuss the reason for returning home, Bog felt that the Faegold daughter was holding something back, but he knew prying would just make matters worse. There was only one question that burned at the forefront of his mind – how long was a while?

He asked that question, phrasing it carefully to not make it seem like she was intruding on his time after all this was technically her home.

"Honestly? Long enough to clear my head, to get my... life in order."

Bog understood, he had been young and messed up once upon a time. 

"Does your family know where you are?" 

Marianne hesitated, the flicker of her brow and fidgeting posture told Bog all he needed to know, but regardless she answered.

"No. They don't." 

Bog tried his best to wear both an understanding and apologetic look on his face, but from having experience, he felt this was a classic case of running away from home.

Except Marianne had run _back_ home.

Nevertheless, it was still running from something, while Bog was nearly a thirty-year-old man, the woman across the table barely looked old enough to order a drink in a local pub. The important thing for her to do was let her family know that she was somewhere safe. 

Plus, her dad was his boss, so he didn't want to be on Mr Faegold's bad side so early on into the contract. 

"Miss Faegold-"

"Marianne, please." 

"Marianne, if your family don't know where you are, I'm sure they are going to be concerned, we could call them now just to let them know?" 

"They don't need to know where I am every second of the day, I'm a grown woman for god's sake, at twenty-three I can handle myself."

Bog sat across from the woman, stunned at her sudden outburst and shift in attitude.

He was even more surprised that she was only seven years younger than him, he concluded that it was the puffy cheeks and red eyes from crying that gave her such a childlike appearance.

"I'm sorry," She apologised, sniffing into the cardigan's scrunched sleeve. "I didn't mean to sound like a total bitch, it's just they'll worry and I mean, _I_  was supposed to be getting married..."

Marianne's voice cracked on the last word, her eyes brimming almost instantly with tears. She inhaled deeply and turned her face away, but Bog could see her teeth biting her quivering lip.

The sudden rush of sadness made Bog understand what had happened.

Thom mentioned in a passing comment that the Faegold's were attending a wedding, Bog never thought how it could be one of theirs. The guest room that looked like it housed a couple also made sense, Bog guessed that was where Marianne and her partner stayed. What was it Pat Plum had said about the eldest Faegold daughter? That she was a loose cannon that quickly betrothed some handsome guy.

Bog didn't want to presume anything, but whatever happened was clearly bad if it left her in a state like this. 

"If it's too painful for you to talk about, you don't have to." Bog began, "I just think, if someone I cared about upped and left, I'd be concerned about them regardless."

Marianne turned back to face him, her hand curled into a fist that rested softly against her mouth. Lifting her head slightly, she spoke. "There's only one person who knows I'm gone, but I doubt he'll even realise that. Even if his own wedding is in a month, well, not like there will be one."

The question fell out Bog's mouth before he even realised what he was saying.

"Your fiancé?" 

A flash of anger sparked in Marianne's sore eyes. "That no good son of a bitch, probably still sunning himself and parading around like some peacock on steroids. Bet my sister would go ballistic if she knew..." Marianne's sentence abruptly came to an end as she sighed. 

"I'll tell them where I am, but they won't even realise I'm gone. I promise I'll let them know, I just need a few days before I face that." 

Feeling somewhat relieved, Bog reclined in his chair. "Alright, now that's sorted, what about you being here? Will I have to leave or-" Bog's train of thought about being made homeless after just moving here was cut short by Marianne's sudden outcry.

"I don't want you to leave."

It came out as a mixture of aggression but also desperation, a subtle cry for help to a stranger who she had already seen in the nude.

"Will you be alright staying when there is a complete stranger living with you?" Bog queried.

Marianne gave a weak smile, "I could ask you the same question." 

"As long as you don't hit me with another book, I reckon it'll be fine."

They made eye contact long enough for Bog to see the amber colouring of her eyes that hid behind puffy eyelids. 

"Are you sure this temporary arrangement doesn't bother you?" She pressed.

Bog shook his head, "Not at all. But I only ask that you let someone know you're here by the end of this week."

Marianne sniffed yet again, "I promise." 

***

 

After their conversation, Marianne had retired upstairs where Bog presumed she was sleeping for he had not heard anything coming from her room. 

For the rest of the day the pair kept themselves distant, although they seemed on relatively friendly terms, Bog didn't want Marianne to feel like he was constantly hovering around like some sort of insect, even if he felt he somewhat looked like one. 

As he busied himself doing day-to-day chores, Bog thought about the eldest Faegold. Whatever it was she was going through, he doubted there was much he could do to help, after all, he was just a stranger to her. 

Still, he did have his fair share of heartache. Those were the toughest years of his life, but Marianne seemed like a feisty spirit even if downhearted, he was sure she'd pull through. 

In the midst of doing his own thing, Bog had comprised a shopping list – he couldn't face eating yet another microwave meal, he hadn't been a student in years after all. When he placed the pen down on the notepad Bog realised one vital thing he had forgotten – Marianne. 

He hadn't factored her into the equation.

Bog frowned as he internally started to panic. It was all well and good he enjoyed a good lasagne, but what if Marianne didn't like that? Or if she was a vegetarian?

Letting out a deep, pitiful sigh Bog cursed under his breath. He hadn't even been living with a woman for a day and he was already finding it stressful.

The list of concerns went on as Bog climbed the stairs to Marianne's room; what if she had food allergies? What if she only ate microwave meals? What if she stole his grated cheese?

Bog was so deeply wrapped in thought that at first, he didn't hear the muffled crying. Standing across from where he slept, Bog put an ear to the makeshift library room. The sounds of erratic crying, with the odd hiccup amongst the chorus of blubbering noises, could be heard from behind the door. 

Bog didn't want to disturb her, the last thing she needed was an intrusion by the house sitter, so he backed away quietly, careful to tread lightly as he headed back down the stairs.

Grabbing the pen Bog scribbled on the shopping list and headed out the door. 

He had a rough idea of what he could do. 

***

Marianne hated herself for the fact she actually owned a Sinead O'Connor album.

She hated herself even more for the fact that she was now listing to it.

Since hitting him with a book and their semi-awkward chat about the arrangement, Marianne had kept out of Bog's way. She didn't want him thinking that she was loitering around, watching and inspecting every little thing he did. If her father trusted him enough to watch the house, then so could she.

Being in her own company, it didn't take long for Marianne to start crying. She was so tired of crying, so fed up with everything, which just made her cry even harder.

For the last few hours, she had barely moved from the foetus position on her bed. Her portable CD player laid next to her as she clutched her treasured patchwork pillow. The plumpness of the stuffing had flattened over the years, but it was handmade by her mother and Marianne knew a lot of love went into it.

She shook her head and hugged it harder, thinking of her mother now wouldn't do any good, she couldn't bear to be thought of as a disappointment, especially when her mother realised her eldest daughter wasn't getting married anymore and everyone would not be playing happy families even after she had upped and left.

Marianne unhinged herself from the pillow and rolled onto her back. The headphones blasted 'Nothing Compares 2 U' into her ears as she thought about what she could do. It wasn't perfect, but she did have something of a plan. Her little sister would be her salvation in this horrendous mess, she'd tell the family that the wedding was off. Marianne felt bad to pin it all on her, but her sister was nothing if not efficient.

And Marianne highly doubted  _he_  had got into contact with any of the Faegolds.

The next stage of the plan was to box up whatever was left of  _his_ in the house.

After that, well, she wasn't sure. 

Even in the bigger scale of things, like what she was going to do with her life, she was unsure about. After all, getting married and moving out had been a major focus for the last couple of months. 

She could still move out sure, but where would she go? At that moment Marianne felt so lonely, lonelier than when she was a child being bullied for being a 'rich kid' or a 'complete weirdo', lonelier still when her mother left her and their family.

A light bulb flickered in her mind as she thought of the house sitter. Yeah, Marianne thought with a smile, at least she had Bog.

Fairly certain that the only reason he agreed to let her stay was that he was scared of her, being the 'boss's daughter'.

Still, he seemed nice. He cared enough to not have her done for assault and he had made her tea. There was something tender and kind to him behind his rugged looks. 

He was good-looking, Marianne thought to herself, wondering if Plum had already started sniffing around. 

Perhaps, when she felt better, that there was something she could do to make it up to Bog.

The CD abruptly ended and let out a whirring noise to indicate it needed either changing or restarting. Deciding the best thing for her psyche was to not listen to the album for the third time, Marianne sat up in an attempt to find something more uplifting to listen to. 

Sitting up, however, proved to be a difficult task. The headphones, after hours of use, had become knotted with not only themselves but also with Marianne's knotty hair. Cursing under her breath she tried hopelessly to free the wire and bud. Marianne scolded herself for letting her hair get into this state, she remembered how she used to take pride in her appearance, but she knew deep down that was all just to please _him_.

Really, she hated the hours she had spent in front of mirrors; curling, tonging, straightening. It would be far easier if she just cut the whole lot of it off.

One bud was nearly free when Marianne pulled and the headphone got itself even more tangled into a clump of hair. It must have been days since she brushed it thoroughly, actually, it felt like it had been days since she had washed. 

God, she felt disgusting. 

Feeling herself getting more worked up by the second, Marianne tried, again and again, to solve the situation calmly but to no avail. Finally, after having enough she hauled herself off to the bathroom.

She rummaged around in her cupboards, thankful that she had left most of her toiletries here, knowing that they'd keep for years. After pulling out bottles and perfumes, Marianne found the item she was looking for. 

The scissors shone in the fluorescent light and she tried to carefully cut the headphone away from a single clump of mattered hair, but the headphone refused to budge. 

Anger at boiling point, Marianne screamed silently and hacked away, the headphone finally falling to the tiled floor. 

Along with more than a few strands of hair. 

"Ah." Marianne muttered to herself, she hadn't meant to be quite so aggressive with the scissors. Glancing upwards, Marianne caught her reflection in the mirror. For a split-second, she thought it was a stranger, as the reflection felt so different from the one she was used to.

Her skin was pale and blotchy. Deep, dark circles hung below her red, swollen eyes. Her hair on one side was clumped and knotted, while the other half, now lying on her bathroom floor, seemed to be an improvement compared to the rest of her.

Marianne wanted to cry, but she doubted she had any tears left. How could she let someone make her feel like this?

She let the scissors drop into the basin as she clutched the edges of the porcelain sink, staring at herself up close.

So what if the wedding had fallen apart and she was now alone. She had been alone before and managed just fine. She didn't need a man to validate herself, she didn't need a man full stop, let alone one who only cared about her money. 

Sure, she was going to feel like utter shit – that was always going to be the case, but she had the power to do something about it. After all, lying in bed listening to Sinead O'Connor for hours on repeat wasn't going to do her any good.

Marianne gave herself one last look in the mirror before reaching down and grabbing the scissors. Without a care, she began to cut away at her hair. Mangled strands fell past her shoulders and onto the floor below.

With every snip, she felt lighter, felt free.

By the time she had finished, her once torso length hair was just sitting below her ears. Sections were cut all different lengths and although this made her look somewhat erratic, she had to admit she actually liked it.

She swept the remains of her hair into a pile, making a mental note to clean it up later and decided to shower.

Eagerly, she stood there for a minute letting the water cascade over her. The warm steam cleansed her skin, washing away the last stray snippets of hair. 

Marianne hadn't truly realised how dirty she actually felt, had she really not washed since leaving for the journey home?

For what felt like an hour, Marianne happily stood under the shower. Her mind did not wander to the worries of the wedding, instead, she focused on happier things. 

She knew she had a long way to go, but she did feel better.

Marianne had just started to hum a few bars of a song when she heard a knock at her bedroom door. 

Forgetting she shared the house, she initially was worried that Bog had come to complain that all the hot water was gone. Swiftly, Marianne turned off the shower and threw on a towel.

While mid-drying, Marianne realised how much of a blessing cutting her hair was, now she wouldn't have to spend ages with detangle mousses and other useless hair-care products.

Wrapping the towel securely around her and holding it close to her chest to avoid a similar mishap to Bog this morning, Marianne slowly opened to the door, expecting the house sitter to be stood with his long arms folded and blue eyes staring down at her.

Instead, she found no one. 

Both the doorway and corridor were empty when she opened her door fully to check. Confused, she thought to herself that maybe she was just paranoid. Marianne was about to step inside when she spotted a bag of cookies and box of tissues left outside her door.

Marianne bent down and pulled off the sticky note which read:

**'I thought you could use these. Bog.'**

As she scooped up the gifts her heart swelled. It was such a cliché gesture as if he had googled what would make someone feel better and yet it was adorable and goofy and it meant the world.

Now she felt she really did owe him, especially after locking herself in her room all day like some angsty teenager. Even if her life was technically falling apart, Bog was accommodating and doing his best to make this arrangement work. If he was doing all that, Marianne needed to be doing the same.

Emerging from her room ten minutes later, dressed in the only clothes she could find: a pair of old jeans and a top decorated with a small, sequined Christmas tree, Marianne headed downstairs in search of the house sitter, a bag of cookies in tow.

***  
  


Bog had brought all the ingredients needed to make a lasagne from scratch, but as the peppers and onions lay in front of him on the gleaming marble kitchen top, Bog realised his first mistake.

He had no idea how to even start.

His phone wasn't helping matters either, the website he was using as a reference was telling him completely different units of measurements. Bog was mid-groan when a voice from behind spooked him.

"Thanks for the cookies-"

Bog jumped. the phone flying out of his grasp but thankfully he managed to catch it before it fell and broke on the tiled floor.

Taking a breath in when realising it was just Marianne, he turned. "No problem, I thought-".

Bog stopped when he saw her. 

The misty-eyed girl had vanished and, in her place, stood a semi-confident woman sporting a wild pixie do.

"You... cut all your hair off?"

Instantly, as if she had not realised what had befallen her head, her hands went up and patted the carefree strands which Bog had just realised were all different shades of brown.

"You look good."

Her eyes widened, the skin still sore around them. "You think so?" She asked.

"Makes you look like one of those warrior women." 

Marianne smiled as if the compliment meant the world to her. Bog wasn't going to question as to why she had cut all her hair off, maybe it was just a woman thing that he'd never fully understand.

In the silence that followed, Marianne offered Bog a cookie. He declined.

"I got them for you. I, err, well, googled what women would want when upset and apparently cookies were highly sought after. But I am ashamed to admit that I did ask Pat Plum for help when it came to choosing a flavour." 

"Did you tell her I was back?" Marianne queried.

Bog gave Marianne her answer with a small shake of his head. "No, I haven't lived here long but I already know not to tell her anything unless I want everyone within a fifty-mile radius to know. That and, well, she scares me a little." 

"Don't worry," Marianne began as she took up residence on a stool seat at the kitchenette, "she scares me too." She let her eyes wander over the countertop and picked up a lone pepper that had rolled away from its fellow vegetables. "Where you going to cook?" 

"I was going to make a vegetarian lasagne but..." 

"Oh." Marianne's mouth formed a petite, perfect 'o', "you don't eat meat?" 

"No, I eat meat. I was going to make it vegetarian in case you were." 

Marianne let the pepper return to its original place on the countertop before turning to face Bog fully. "You don't even know me."

"Sorry, what?" 

"You don't even know me and yet you are being so nice. You let me stay here, brought me cookies and based your dinner on the fact that I may or may not eat meat. I mean, I hit you with a book for god's sake and made you expose yourself, clearly I'm not the greatest person to live with." 

"Could we, erm, never bring up the fact I was naked please." Bog groaned, his cheeks threatening to burn crimson. 

Marianne's cheeks glowed pink at the mentioning of it and for a moment both of them refused to meet the other's eye.

"Look," Bog said breaking the silence. "I know that whatever you are going through is something personal and rough, I'm not overly nice, just helping out where I can." 

Marianne sat up quickly in her seat as she took this in. "Then, let me help too."

Bog gestured to the table top, "I don't need help with anything, got everything under control."

"How long have you been staring at these ingredients?"

"I haven't been staring at them, been... evaluating them." 

Marianne raised an eyebrow.

"About twenty minutes." Bog told her with defeat.

Marianne climbed off the stool and stood beside him. "At least let me help out with dinner, I'm actually pretty skilled with a knife."

Bog didn't feel surprised to learn this, after the blunt force trauma he experienced with the book, he wouldn't be surprised if Marianne could wield a knife like a weapon.

"Am I going to learn you're a secret swordswoman?" Bog asked as he reluctantly handed Marianne a kitchen knife so to start preparing the vegetables.

"Well, you know what they say." Marianne commented with a soft smirk. "You never truly know someone until you live with them."

***   


At the end of two and a half hours, both Bog and Marianne were covered in an array of vegetable splatter and tomato sauce, but finished platefuls sat in front of them.

"I think you have tomato in your hair." Bog pointed out to Marianne, who inspected the soaked strand and tried to clean it best to her ability with a napkin.

Bog couldn't help but laugh, which prompted Marianne to let out a small chuckle at herself.

Their laughter was cut short by the high-pitch ring of the phone. Bog had completely forgotten that the house even had one, after all, he suspected everyone the Faegold's knew were fully aware that they were gone for eighteen months. So, who could this be?

Slightly startled, Bog pushed his chair back and got to his feet quickly. Marianne sat still in her chair as if she was made of stone. Her mouth had fallen into a hard line and her eyes were filled with panic. As Bog left the room to answer, he could see Marianne turning white.

After the third ring, he picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" He called out.

"Hello?" Responded a perk, feminine voice. "Hello? Is this B-o-g-g-a-r-t King?" 

"It is." Bog knew a lot of people struggled with his full name, but never before had someone sounded out every single syllable so slowly. 

"Great! I hope I said your name correctly, it looked very tricky and I'm cautious about getting people's names wrong-" 

"How can I help you?" Bog inquired, hoping to reign in the conversation.

"Oh right, yes. I was wondering if Marianne Faegold was there?" 

Bog swallowed and took a moment to look behind him into the dining room. Marianne was still rigid in her seat, her pale face staring up at him and eyes filled with both curiosity and terror. 

It was that look that twanged his heart. Bog barely knew the woman and yet he felt loyal to protect her from a potential shitstorm. 

"Who is this?" Bog asked, his tone more aggressive then he had meant for it to be. 

"This is Dawn." The voice answered back, "Marianne's sister." 


	3. Catharsis

" _Dawn?_ " 

"Yes." The voice quipped, "that's right." 

" _Dawn_." Bog said, but louder this time. He looked over his shoulder and saw Marianne getting to her feet, silently making her way over to him.

" **Dawn**." He repeated, in a loud hiss so that Marianne finally realised who was on the other end of the phone.

There was both a wave of panic and relief that washed over her face as she semi-ran to where Bog stood, then she abruptly stopped and started miming out her hand cutting her neck.

"Are... you okay?" The voice inquired, drawing out the syllables slowly as if they were unsure. 

"Er, I, er-" Bog managed to say before he finally covered over the phone and hissed at Marianne who had been continually repeating the same action.

"What does that mean?!" He whispered, "Why are you doing that?" 

"How do we know it's Dawn?" Marianne hissed back.

"What?" Bog asked exasperatedly. "She said so-... ah." 

"Now you got it! It could be anyone." 

"Well, it's a female."

"That narrows it down to 3.5 billion." 

Bog growing cautious of the waiting voice through the telephone asked what he should do, he had honestly never been in a situation like this. The prank call to a pizza place when he was younger came close though. 

"Just... ask why she would ask if I was here. They shouldn't know I've left yet." 

Bog nodded and took his hand away from the receiver. 

"Sorry about that. Bad, err throat." He proceeded to cough and clear his throat, "About your question, why would miss Faegold be here?" 

There was a moment of silence from the line, then a sigh. "It's her wedding, well not now but in a month and I can't find her anywhere. She's not answering her phone or anything on social media, I mean not like she checked those anyway but I thought-" 

Bog replaced his hand back over the receiver. "You've done a runner and she can't find you." He whispered to Marianne who was now so close to him that she had probably heard the conversation for herself.

"Ask her what's better: lemon cake or chocolate cake."

"Seriously?" 

"Just do it." 

With minor hesitation Bog called into the receiver.

"Dawn?" He asked, causing the voice to abruptly stop. It seemed as if the voice had continued to ramble all the while he was talking to Marianne. 

"Yes?" 

"What's better? Lemon cake or chocolate cake." 

"Excuse me?" 

Now Bog really did feel like a fool, "Lemon cake or chocolate ca-"

"Neither."

"Neither?!" Bog repeated and as soon as those words left his mouth, Marianne had grabbed the phone and clutched it to her face.

"Hey, sis." She greeted, the panic completely gone from her face.

A high-pitch squeak was emitted through the phone, loud enough for Bog to hear.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Marianne muttered in-between the muffled sounds of her sister's continuous questioning. Bog, although standing next to the phone only received Marianne's side of the conversation: 

"It's a long story." 

"The wedding... yeah." 

"It is, but don't be mad." 

"You're not?" 

"It's over, I'm sure." 

"You will?" 

"Thank you so much Dawn."

A weak smile edged at the corners of Marianne's mouth as she looked up at Bog. 

"No, you don't have to – I've got Bog." 

" _No_ , he isn't, he was looking out for me in case you were someone else." 

"I am **not** paranoid!" 

"You do not need to give me the dictionary definition of the word." 

"Fine, I owe you anyway." 

"I love you too sis, bye." 

The phone call clicked as it ended and Marianne placed the phone back in its holder.

She waited, before slightly nodding her head in approval. "I think that went better than expected." 

"She thought I was weird, didn't she?" 

"Noooo, of course not." 

" _You,_ " Bog said with a smile, "are a terrible liar." 

***

The morning after the phone call, Marianne decided it was probably a good time to charge her phone. Calls, texts and waves of messages were bound to be coming her way since Dawn was dropping the bomb about the now non-existent wedding today and eventually she would have to do something about them. 

Marianne thankfully found a charger pushed to the back in one of her drawers, along with a couple pairs of odd socks. As the phone screen came to life, Marianne scouted out for any more clothes she could wear, but it was hopeless. Most of her outfits were at the wedding venue and while she was grateful Dawn would bring most if not all of them back with her when she eventually came to visit, dressing in the meantime could become an issue. 

Going into town and simply buying clothes seemed like the most obvious solution, however, it was one thing to charge your phone in preparation for seeing a potential angry message about a cancelled wedding, but another entirely to walk into town where people like Pat Plum would seek you out and pounce on you like a hungry jaguar. 

Marianne noted that this was now her time, she refused to feel rushed and would now take things at her own pace, where she felt comfortable.

But that still left the issue of clothes.

Perhaps she could borrow some? Sure, Bog was a vastly different body shape and she had only known him for a day... who was she kidding she couldn't borrow clothes from him. His tops would be like maxi dresses on her.

Suddenly, Marianne got an idea. She wondered why she hadn't thought of it before. There was bound to be something of hers left in _that_ room. With urgency she flung open her door and bounded down the corridor, pushing open the door to a room she was once oh-so-familiar with.

Then she realised why she hadn't been in there. 

A few of Roland's spare shirts and trousers were folded neatly on a dresser chair. Slowly, Marianne moved to them, carefully picking up the shirt that lay on the top of the pile. It unfolded and fell in her hands, the soft, white cotton gleaming in the morning sun that snaked through the window.

Marianne remembered Roland wearing this, remembered how he smiled at her and how their hands interlinked.

Then she remembered his bare back and the moans of another woman coming from beneath him in their bed at the wedding venue. 

The memory stung and Marianne could feel her heart squeeze, a rush of nausea surged in her stomach and she did not know whether it was the anger, the frustration, the upset or the hurt – but she ripped the shirt in half and let the tattered strips fall lifelessly to the ground.

Marianne looked down at them and then put her hands to her face, tears had completely soaked her cheeks and with the palms of her hands, she wiped them away. 

When her mother had dropped a bombshell on the family, Marianne recalled how everyone kept talking to her father about his use of 'catharsis'. At the time she didn't care for the word, she cared for getting stupidly drunk with friends whose names she couldn't remember.

Maybe, it was catharsis she needed. Looking at the ripped fabric already made her feel better, and within moments she was ripping her way through the clothes Roland had used to parade about in, letting the torn pieces float down to the ground around her.

  
  


***

Initially, he thought it was raining.

But as Bog looked out his window, he was greeted with yet another beautiful morning, the sun strong in the sky. 

So where was this sound coming from? 

It was so faint he almost felt like he was imagining it, but as he walked down the hallway the sound gradually became louder but after a few more steps it stopped.

"What in the world..." Bog muttered out loud as he found himself outside one of the many guestrooms, intrigued, he opened the door.

Marianne had her back to him but looked over her shoulder, rather embarrassingly as the door opened to the mess she had made.

Bog looked at Marianne who stood amongst piles of ripped pieces of cloth and cotton, as if she had had a battle with a wardrobe and clearly emerged the victor. 

"Catharsis." Marianne explained, almost breathlessly.

Bog simply nodded, letting his gaze wander around the room. Other clothes, such as black skirts and plush pink shirts hung untouched across the other side of the space. He suspected these clothes, which now lay in pieces, had belonged to her ex.

Wait, was he her ex? Surely, he had to be, after all, something had happened that resulted in her being here and not there, but was it official? The wedding was off, but that didn't mean the relationship was? Bog frowned inwardly, this is why he simply stayed single. It was too much drama he refused to deal with. 

"Do you feel any better?" He asked, finally stepping into the room, his feet landing on shreds of shirts that he guessed had been rather expensive once upon a time.

Marianne nodded, almost shamefully at first. "It was an 'in-the-moment thing', I went a bit crazy I know but... it did feel good." 

"By all means, do whatever makes you feel good. As long as you don't harm yourself." 

Marianne smiled and as she did it emitted a kind of warmth, one that Bog dismissed almost immediately. 

"So, what will we do with all this?" He asked, bending down and inspecting a ripped cotton segment with a designer logo stitched into it. 

"If you didn't think I was crazy already... I was going to ask if we could... burn it?" 

***

"The marshmallows are a nice extra." Marianne noted as she twirled her stick near the flickering flames.

"You can't make a bonfire without them, it's an unwritten rule." 

"You are such a foodie." 

"I am not!" Bog claimed defensively, even if it was true. He blamed his age for his refined tastes in cooked food and gooey treats.

Marianne chuckled softly as she popped the pink blob into her mouth. After she had finished, she turned to Bog. "Reckon its time?" 

Bog nodded.

With a similar air to that of an excited child, Marianne rushed inside and returned within minutes carrying a cardboard box; containing the remainder of anything to do with her fiancé. 

She dropped the box near the bonfire and looked up from the contents to the flames.

"Any last words?" Bog jokingly asked before finishing off his own marshmallow.

Without hesitation, Marianne grabbed handfuls of the shredded fabric and launched them onto the fire.

"Bye Bye." She whispered under her breath, a wicked gleam in her eye and a satisfied smile on her lips as she proceeded to through handful after handful on the bonfire.

After the box was emptied the pair sat watching the embers of painful memories floating upwards into the night sky.

With a sigh, Marianne lay back onto the grass. Since she had cut her hair she could feel the blades tickle at the back of her ears and neck, but it wasn't a feeling she minded.

"Strange how ripping up a few shirts can make you feel better. Though, to be honest, I feel bad I didn't donate them." 

"It was a heat of the moment thing, I wouldn't worry about it too much." Bog responded, laying down next to her. 

What was strange to him was how comfortable he felt around Marianne even though she was essentially a stranger. He knew so little about her he might as well know nothing at all, but yet he could happily lay down in the grass alongside her like he was a young lad and not in his late twenties. 

"I try not to worry too much about it, you know? I'm concerned if I do, I'll start second-guessing everything and I've already come too far to take anything back." 

"You mean about cancelling the wedding?" 

"That and cutting all my hair off and burning his clothes. Honestly, I know I look and act like a mad woman, but I promise you I'm not."

"It's normal to feel, people forget that sometimes." 

Marianne turned to face him, so the grass was against her cheeks instead. "People don't take into account other people. I didn't with you, came straight home forgetting someone else would be there and messed up your plans." 

"I didn't have any great or exciting plans, honestly I just planned to housesit and that's it." 

"Why  _did_  you want to housesit for this place anyway?"

It was Bog's turn to roll over and face Marianne, he positioned himself so that he rested awkwardly on one arm. 

"I've housesat for so long that I'll often take whatever job offer there is, regardless of location. I knew practically nothing about this place until I arrived." 

"That's refreshing, there are so many people who just want to snoop around inside the house simply because it's a classified mansion." 

An image of Pat Plum flashed in Bog's mind, but he didn't say anything more about it and instead changed the subject. 

"Do you not like it here?" He asked inquisitively.

"It's not that I don’t like it here, I just found it a bit suffocating before I went away. It was a place that I felt had too many bad memories that I needed to get away from. Funny that because now when something bad has happened the first thing I did was run back home." 

"There's nothing bad about having a safe space, regardless of where that may be." 

"You sound like a fortune cookie." Marianne teased. "But you're right, I just didn't realise home meant so much until everything I thought I wanted fell through." 

"Everything you thought you wanted?" Bog repeated.

Marianne fidgeted, letting her fingers get lost in the grass. "Looking back on it, I didn't really allow myself to get to know Roland, so maybe that explains why what happened, happened." 

Bog kept tight-lipped, although he wanted to ask the question, he knew better not too. 

Marianne exhaled, "You were bound to find out anyway and I owe you the truth since you've been so understanding with this whole messed up situation."

She rolled over, so her back was against the ground and her eyes were staring up at the stars that shone overhead. 

"The wedding venue had different locations, like resorts. Roland and I were staying in one separate to my family and the other guests. At the time I thought nothing of the fact he insisted on one so distant from the others, I don't know, maybe I thought it was excluded and romantic? God, I am so dumb sometimes."

Marianne let out a deep sigh before continuing. 

"Anyway, I went out for the day as I had a wedding dress fitting scheduled and needed to sort out some other last-minute arrangements like the bouquet and tedious things like that. However, the fitting got moved forward a day so I returned home earlier than expected and when I entered our resort house, I could hear something muffled. I thought it was Roland speaking to one of the people who work there, but when I opened our bedroom door... he was in bed with another woman." 

"Oh god, Marianne... I- I am so sorry." 

"That's not even the worst part, turns out he's been seeing this woman continuously throughout the engagement, throughout the time we've been together and even before we met. So really,  _I_ am the other woman."

"Bloody hell." 

"It made sense then why he requested a separate location, made it more possible to meet with her. What made it worse was that she was well aware we were getting married, so, as much as I hate to admit it, he was probably after the money all along." 

"You did the right thing."

"Did I? Because honestly, I don't know if not telling anyone and just leaving was a good idea."

"No, I mean, you did the right thing by coming here and not killing him." 

Marianne smiled, "I don't think I could of even if I wanted to, I felt so... weak? I didn't even have the strength to confront them. I just stood there, listening to them, learning that everything was a lie, and then I left."

"So, he doesn't even know you know? Or that the wedding is off?" 

"It's going to be a bombshell for everyone, and I think that's the part that hurts more." 

"They wouldn't expect you to marry someone like that." Bog comforted.

"My family is complicated when it comes to things like marriage." Marianne remarked as she tucked her arms under her head for support. "Dad especially." 

"Pat Plum mentioned your mother, err, very briefly."

Bog inwardly scolded himself for revealing this, he hated to upset Marianne any more than she already was, but thankfully the slip didn't bother her. 

"It was big drama when it happened and everyone in the family took it hard but it was supposed to be kept a secret, what with our influence in the town. So, naturally, everyone found out and shit hit the fan." Keeping her arms cushioning her head, Marianne tilted her face so she was once again facing Bog.

"I admit I didn't take it well, which seems to be a recurring pattern, but I felt for dad. After all, he had Plum trying it on with him and that's enough to strike fear into anyone's heart."

Bog couldn't help but crack a smile. It was weird to think that not long ago she had attacked him with a book, her appearance was scraggly and her eyes red and sore. Now, lying down in the grass – it was almost like being with someone different. Not only appearance-wise, but it would seem her confidence was slowly coming back to her and Bog could see that Marianne before the heartache was witty, charming and beautiful.

That train of thought made him blush.

"Well, erm, I know you aren't fond of the idea... but maybe, once you feel ready that is, we could go into town? You could tell me about everything since my original tour guide was easily distracted by anything beautician related." 

Marianne pulled herself up off the ground and clutched her knees close to her chest.

"I may have a biased view, but yeah... I reckon I'd like that." 

Bog followed suit and picked himself up from the ground, holding out a hand to Marianne to help to her feet. Together they watched the last of the embers dance before dying, the remains of the clothes that Roland had once worn, were now long gone. 


	4. Our Little Town

A week had passed since Marianne Faegold came into Bog's life unannounced and unexpected, yet he found there was something new and exciting about her companionship. 

Since the ' _burning of the bastard's clothes_ ', which Marianne had named the ceremonious bonfire, everything fell into a steady rhythm. There were no more phone calls and the Marianne seemed to perk up a little every day, Bog understood that time was a great healer and maybe today would be the day. 

Although he had ventured into town a few times, he still got helplessly lost. The thought of another unsuccessful tour by Pat Plum unnerved him. Marianne, with her witty sense of humour and knowledge of the area, would be the perfect guide, but Bog didn't want to rush her. It was just that she hadn't left the house or its grounds in seven days and he was starting to worry about her.

It got to a point where he was _that_ concerned, he thought about calling his mother – but he soon dismissed the idea, especially if she knew he was practically living with a woman. Google, as one might think, wasn't the biggest help. Searching: " _what does it mean if you burn an ex's clothes?_ " Typically came back with results such as " _arsonist._ "

Nevertheless, Bog knew from experience that fresh air and sunshine were nature's greatest healers.

It was just a matter of getting her out of the house.

As Bog chewed on his toast, an already dressed Marianne took residence in the chair opposite, pouring out cereal into a bowl and splashing it with milk.

"Mornin'." Bog greeted, using his thumb to remove any lingering crumbs from his mouth. Normally Marianne didn't join him for breakfast, she would always eat an hour or two after him and take the food back upstairs. 

He knew exactly what she did, which was settle down with whatever book she had just started to read and eat when her brain remembered to. Bog found this out when one morning he heard yelling and rushed to see what had happened, only to find a frowning Marianne who in attempt to save her book from the falling cereal, had got it all over herself and the floor instead.

"Hey, remember you asked about going into town? I was wondering if you still wanted to do that?" Marianne asked in between mouthfuls.

Bog perked up, "Really?" 

Marianne nodded as she ate another heaped spoonful of cereal. "Dawn's not going to visit for a while yet, so I have to get some clothes and it's got to a point where I can't wear an old Christmas top anymore. Besides, fresh air will do me the world of good. So, fancy a tour of our little town?"

Inwardly Bog gleamed. 

"I'd be delighted." 

***

"Why the name 'Faewood Hollow'?" Bog asked as they walked into town, the morning sun not even above them in the sky. Marianne had been feeding him little titbits of information since leaving the mansion, seems there was more to this quaint place than meets the eye.

"After the Faegold family." 

"Seriously? You have a town named after you?" 

Marianne laughed, "Well, okay, not exactly. It's more like, they named each other? We are talking hundreds of years ago here. The original Faegold's, who were known simply as 'The Fae Family', built this town from the earth up as a home for all, surrounded by green as far as the eye could see. Before anything was here you see, there was just a small collective of hollowed tree's and the Fae's, instead of destroying them decided to build around them. Since the Fae's were basically like royalty to the town, the townspeople combined the two and the name 'Faewood Hollow' stuck."

"Has your family lived in this town for that long?" 

"Pretty much, obviously people get up and go. Royalties are handed down to the eldest, but if they don't want it, it falls to whoever else wants the 'mantle'... as it were." 

"So, in theory... that would be you?" 

"Supposed to be, doubt it has been for years though. I haven't exactly been what you'd call  _stable_."

Noticing her uncomfortableness for talking about it, Bog decided to change the subject.

"What about Fae Mart? Was that named after your family?"

Marianne shook her head, "It was my father's idea when he became the 'head' of the Fae household. He wanted something modern that could evolve with the ever-growing economic climate, and thus that is how the supermarket with the ugliest uniforms was born!"

"I did notice the neon orange." 

"I'd be more surprised if you hadn't." Marianne smirked as they finally came to the bottom of the hill and crossed the town square. The copse stood proudly in the centre, an aged stone wall built around it. Now knowing the story behind it, Bog felt like he was a little bit more rooted in this place, which for him, was an odd sensation. 

"Shouldn't it have a plaque or something?" Bog inquired.

Marianne followed his gaze to the trees. "There is one around the other side..." She replied, changing her direction and heading around the clustered clump to the location of the plaque, only to be greeted instead by a small man and a polishing kit.

"Ah! Mr Bog! I was wondering when I would be seeing you again!"

"Thom." Bog greeted, extending his own hand and shaking Thom's, "Hope you've been well." 

Thom nodded quickly before turning his attention to Marianne as if he couldn't quite place her.

"Hey Thang, been a while."

"Marianne?" Thom asked as his eyes bulged. "Aren't you somewhere exotic?" 

"Unless you count Faewood Hollow as exotic, then no." 

"But... wasn't there a wedding?" 

"There was, but, you know me." 

Thom put a small, stocky hand on Marianne's arm. "As long as you're alright, that's the main thing." 

There was a small pause before Thom asked; "does that mean the rest of the Faegold's are back?"

"No and they won't be for a while."

"I take it you and Mr Bog are staying up together in the mansion?"

Together Bog and Marianne nodded, "well, you know if you need anything, be that lifts, plumbing, bat catching, gardening... you know who to call." 

"We know, thanks Thang. See you around!"

Thom said goodbye before returning to polishing the town plaque. 

"Does the house get a lot of bat-related problems then?" Bog asked.

"Totally Dawn's fault, one year I put Halloween decorations up a little too early and one scared her into ringing Thom."

"How realistic was this decoration?" 

"In her defence, it was a stuffed bat." 

"Where did you get a stuffed bat from?!"

"The supermarket." 

"No way." 

"I'm kidding, I won it on eBay." Marianne teased with a smirk.

***  
  


"Does the woman on the till keep looking at me?" Marianne whispered to Bog, "Or, am I really paranoid?"

Bog glanced up, the woman, who looked to be the same age as Marianne stood slumped behind the counter that separated the boutique from the back. It was painfully obvious how much she was staring, but when she realised Bog had caught her, she went back to fake reading her magazine. 

"She's looking."

"Is she looking at me... or you?" 

"I doubt she'd be looking at me." 

"Pfft, you do not know the woman of this town well enough at all." Marianne announced quietly before picking up a worn leather jacket off the rails. 

"I'm afraid to ask what that means." Bog commented as Marianne slipped the jacket on. It fit her like a glove and went surprisingly well with the plush pink blouse she was currently wearing – which served as a spare top when the Christmas one was being washed.

"Gossip is this town's wildfire and you're an attractive guy they don't know. Girl's love that dark and mysterious thing, it’s why they like movie villains a lot more than the heroes." 

Marianne moved down the aisle, picking out a few more items of clothing just as Bog's cheeks began to burn. She returned moments later holding up two pairs of trousers.

"Are you asking for me to choose?" Bog asked, unsure what the difference between the two was.

"There is only one winner here, I'm just interested to see if you'd choose the same."

"I honestly can't tell the difference." Bog admitted.

"Pockets." Marianne declared, showing how one pair of trousers had deep lined pockets while the others were just for show, sewn up for no practical reason. "That being said, I need to try them on, are you okay to wait for a second?"

"No problem, shall I be on the lookout for any more festive clothes?"

"Unless you want to build another bonfire." Marianne remarked as she disappeared behind a changing room curtain.

For the next few moments, Bog aimlessly walked around the boutique. True to her word, Marianne had shown him the town, highlighting its nooks and crannies. Once the town tour was complete the next objective was for Marianne to get some clothes, as reluctant as she had been to drag Bog shopping with her, he refused to let her go alone. 

His mother had once taken him to a department store when the sales were on and that was enough to make him fully aware of how dangerous it was to go shopping alone. 

"Excuse me?" A voice called from behind him and as Bog spun around, the girl from behind the counter was standing there, twirling her long blonde hair with a varnished yet chipped, nail. 

"Excuse me," she said again, her tone rather monotonous, "but was that your girlfriend?" 

"What? No, no. I don't-"

"Ah cool," The woman replied, chewing erratically on a bright pink piece of gum that matched her nails. "I wanted to ask if you were the guy that's staying up in the mansion." 

Bog noted that Marianne was right, gossip was this town's wildfire.

"Yeah, that's me." 

"Bet it gets lonely up there all by yourself." 

"Err, not really."

The woman let her hair unravel around her finger and moved closer. "You _are_ mysterious, aren't you? I like that in a man." 

"And I like my shop assistants to be at the till ready for when I am prepared to pay." Marianne growled from the counter, arms crossed and single eyebrow raised.

The woman, seemingly embarrassed, trotted over to the counter, her heels clicking against the floor. She sneered at Marianne as she priced up the purchases. 

"Don't I know you?" She asked in a condescending tone.

"I sure hope so Phoebe, since we spent like seven years at school together."

The woman's, or rather now Phoebe's eyes enlarged.

"Marianne Faegold?" She almost screeched as she handed over the receipt.

"In the flesh." Marianne said with conviction, before turning and leaving the shop, Bog following close behind. 

"Are you alright?" Marianne inquired once they were clear of the shop. "You looked a little sick in there." 

Bog sighed, "I'm not good with people, its why I housesit for a job." 

"No one should be made to feel uncomfortable, doesn't’ matter who or what you are. But that's the Plum family for you."

"Like Pat Plum?! Now you mention it, I see some similarities."

"I feel like I've put you through an awful lot, what with everything, especially the shopping and now this. Let me get you a drink."

"No, no, it's fine, I'm fine."

"Bog, I'm not taking no as an answer."

"Look at you with this tough attitude. Alright then tough girl, lead the way."

***

There was only one place that served alcoholic beverages within the town (aside from the booze aisle at the supermarket) and Bog found it strange that it was a coffee shop.

"I honestly don't see it as weird, I mean around five is when they start turning it into a bar, but they still serve hot drinks. I bet the woman who runs this place started selling alcohol because it was the only way she could tolerate the people she serves and didn't want to be caught drinking on the job while grinding coffee beans." 

"You make her sound like an acholic." 

"She's not, or well, she wasn't when I last saw her. I don't know if the town's got to her... I can only hope." Marianne added sarcastically, before opening the door. A tarnished bell rang out as they entered and for a moment, conversations stopped and people lifted their heads to stare at the pair.

Bog was used to feeling like an outsider. If it wasn't to do with his appearance, it was to do with the fact he was never somewhere permanent. Like a child who constantly moves from school to school, Bog never settled down long enough to make any real friendships, moving here with a contract of eighteen months was the longest period he would have ever housesat for. 

So as the small crowd of people leered at them, Bog didn't feel anxious, more tolerant, as this was a behaviour he had become accustomed too. On the other hand, Marianne seemed uncomfortable. She shifted slightly on her feet, rocking on her heels and interlocking her fingers manically. 

The tense atmosphere was broken however when a loud cry echoed out from behind the counter. 

"You won't see the specials from all the way over there! Come in!"

Seemingly out of her apprehensive state, Marianne, with Bog in tow, bumbled up towards the counter, walking past the sea of faces which had now resumed their paused conversations.

A small yet well-built woman, with a tanned headscarf, leant on the counter, her arm holding her head until the Bog and Marianne came closer and she perked up. Her apron, stained with a mixture of spills and cleaning products hung off her loosely, and the front pocket was filled with an array of items such as a small dogeared notebook and three pens. 

The woman squinted her dark eyes, looking at Marianne up and down.

"Is that you Princess?" She asked her voice gruffly and deep.

Marianne smiled, "It is indeed Steffy."

The woman grinned, showcasing her crooked teeth. With speed, she came around the counter and scooped Marianne into a tight hug, to which Marianne returned it with equal strength.

"If you're back here, means shit has gone down. One or Two?" 

"Two, but erm, one for him." 

The woman nodded and headed to the back, where whirrs and hisses of steam could be heard.

"One or two what?" Bog inquired curiously.

"Shots." 

"Shots?!" 

"You won't even taste it." Marianne dismissed, "besides if you do taste it, it'll taste good. Win Win." 

Bog sighed in defeat as Steffy returned with a tray. Three cups of some strange concoction sat with steam twirling up from them. She gestured with her head to a doorway marked with staff only, beckoning Bog and Marianne to follow her.

After climbing a small staircase, they reached the rooftop. The coffee shop wasn't the tallest building in the town, but it provided a decent view none the less. While there were the normal rooftop ornaments such as an aerial and the odd bird, Steffy had taken a corner and made it into a secret getaway: a few tables and chairs surrounded by lush green plants and bulbs which seemed to be currently in bloom. 

As they took their seats, Steffy handed them their cups. "I thought you would prefer some privacy, I noted how everyone glared as you came in." 

"Appreciated." Marianne stated as she took the first sip. 

"I take it," Steffy began as she pulled out a chair and sat across from the two, "that you are the house sitter,  _Bog_?" 

"I am, but how did you know my-" 

"Thom, then Plum, then Plum again because that is all she has been going on about." 

Bog groaned quietly.

Steffy took a swig of her own drink, "You are talk of the town, unfortunately for you. Then again, with you back Marianne, the heat will probably be shared between you both. Steffy by the way, Steffy Stoof," The woman said with a sly grin, holding out her hand for Bog to take. "Sorry I didn't come up to the house to give you a guided tour, since I'm part of the town's welcoming committee." 

"So, the committee is an actual thing?" 

"Its more organised than just following Plum around to the hairdressers that's for sure. Again, sorry about her, she's like a wild horse on steroids." 

"Phoebe too." Marianne remarked.

"So, you've already bumped into Phoebe? Well then, I'd be surprised if Plum isn't out looking for you this exact moment as those two are as thick as thieves. Don't worry, you're safe here." Steffy said with a laugh, "Honestly though, that niece of hers is something else. There's more to life than a boyfriend or girlfriend, but what do I know? I'm 36 and haven't dated since school." 

Bog thought to himself how he could relate.

"But enough of that," Steffy dismissed by taking another large swig of her drink, "As much as I love seeing you back, you've got to tell me what happened." 

"He-" 

"Bastard. I knew the moment I clocked him, smug git. If I had known I would have leapt over that bar and whacked him with a bottle of vodka... or maybe another spirit that isn't as expensive." 

"Steffy, I literally told you nothing." 

"Oh, kid, you don't have too. I know that look in your eye probably better than anymore, well aside from your sister. That and the lack of hair you are now sporting. Shame you didn't shave it all off, we would have matched." 

"Don't tempt me."

"Now, I take it that you're staying back at the mansion because I haven't seen you on any park benches. How are you finding that Mr House Sitter?"

Bog who had been happily letting the two, clearly old friends, catch up and was caught almost unawares.

"Oh, well I'm fine with Marianne being there, seeing it's her house and all."

"Even if he's concerned about me stealing his cheese." 

"You know about that?" His voice coated in guilty embarrassment. 

Steffy drained her drink as she looked between the two, eyeing them closely as if she was examining them. 

"Uh-huh, So, how long are you in town for? The original plan was a year and a half away, but now?"

Marianne bit her lip, "I don't honestly know... everything's a bit up in the air." 

Steffy smiled softly, fine wrinkles appeared beneath her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. 

"You need anything, you know where I am. I mean that Princess, don't go thinking help isn't cool, you've been through that phrase already." 

"I know, I know." 

"Tell you what though, it is so good to see your face. Maybe if you plan to stay a while you could start coming to the town meetings."

"I think this town has had enough of me." Marianne said jokingly, but there was a hint of realism to her tone.

"I doubt that kid." Steffy replied with a wink.

***

As they trudged back up the hill towards the mansion, Bog commented on the relationship between Marianne and the abrupt Steffy.

"She called you Princess, is that irony?" 

"Funnily enough it is. You know, daughter of wealthy man, lives up in a big ol' mansion separated from the rest of the town. I once wore a tiara; the list goes on." 

"I can't imagine you in a tiara." 

"There were pictures, most likely they are now burnt." 

"You sure you aren't a pyromaniac?" Bog teased sarcastically.

Marianne lightly bumped into him in retaliation. 

"In all honesty," Bog said, the drink from earlier still producing warmth in his body. "I'm glad there are people like Steffy, and even Thom in this town." 

"Why do you say that?" Marianne asked when they reached the front door.

"Well for starters, they are nice people and those can be hard to find, but at least, if I hadn't been here, you would have had someone who cared about you nearby."

Marianne, who was relatively tipsy, pushed a loose hair strand away from her face. "You care?" 

Bog turned to her after he had managed to open the door. "Of course I do Marianne." 

With a soft blush on her cheeks, Marianne kicked off her shoes before the two parted ways until dinner, which had become a regular occurrence to cook and eat together if nothing else but for the company. 

As Marianne entered her room she threw herself onto her bed, stretching out before curling into a ball, grabbing her phone which had been untouched since that morning.

The screen flashed to life and as to be expected, more messages ranging from " _I'm so sorry_ " to " _What were you thinking?!_ ". With a lazy flick of her thumb, Marianne scrolled through the notifications until one name caught her eye. 

His picture was small in the corner, but the combination of his face and name made her heart wretch, but she noticed, not as much as it had done a week ago. The first few words of the message were readable before being cut off by the notification box, but Marianne decided she couldn't be bothered to read whatever nonsense Roland had typed out for her. 

Instead, she grabbed her latest book and snuggled down into the plush duvet, content that across the hallway was a like-minded individual who cared about her in a way she thought no one did. 


	5. The Fool and the Fae

Bog was washing up his breakfast bowl and mug when he heard Marianne fly down the stairs, he turned to see her arms frantically waving above her head in sheer panic and desperation. 

“Bog!” 

“Yes?” he replied, concerned about Marianne but also concerned with the fact that he was having difficulty finding the last spoon underneath the bubbles and soap.

“Plum! It’s Plum she’s-” 

The doorbell rang, its chimes echoing through the Faegold mansion.

“Shit!” Marianne cursed, her arms dropping to her side as if they were made of lead. “Shit shit shit.” 

Bog now felt equally panicked. He dried his hands on the tea towel draped over his shoulder and started making his way towards the door. 

“What are you doing?” Marianne hissed, throwing herself in front of him. 

“Answering the door?” Bog responded, confused as of when it had become a crime. 

“We can’t! She’ll want to ask me questions.  _Personal_  questions.” Marianne shuddered at the thought.

Bog risked a glance out of the kitchen window, it presented him with the opportunity to see the porch without Plum seeing him. It was late March and Plum was not dressed with the weather in mind. It had been a cold morning and would be a chillier afternoon, but Plum was wearing a summer dress and heels both a shade of baby blue. 

From his viewpoint he could see Plum sigh as she yet again pressed a polished finger onto the doorbell, letting the same chime ring out. Bog turned to look at Marianne, who was still holding him in place with her glare, though her smile indicated she did see the humour in their current situation. 

A moment later, a small piece of paper was pushed under the door and the sound of heels making their way down the porch steps was a clear indication that they were now safe.

Apprehensively, Marianne made her way towards the door and scooped up the leaflet.

“What’s it for?” Bog asked, joining her.

“A town meeting.” Marianne answered, handing him the paper.

Decorated with a fancy and near-illegible font, the words “FAEWOOD HOLLOW, MONTHLY TOWN MEETING” was spread across the top, with the date, time and location written at the bottom. In the middle sat a crest, a shield with two trees intertwining, small stars behind them. From the shield ornate flowers sprung out, swirling and twirling before ending. Additionally, two swords were sheathed behind the shield. Bog had read his fair share of history books, and knew an elaborate crest when he saw one.

Marianne spied him gazing at the artwork and commented.

“It’s the town’s crest.” She began, “The tree’s being the ones I told you about, like the one untouched in town. It’s also the Faegold’s family crest.” 

“Damn.” Bog muttered under his breath, “You really are a princess, aren’t you?” 

Marianne rolled her eyes but smiled. “Don’t you start.” 

“Shall... we go?” 

“To the meeting?” Marianne bit her lip, “Steffy did suggest it, but it’s still early days... on the other hand, I can’t keep hiding every time the doorbell rings. When is it? Out of interest.” 

“April... 1st.” Bog said, sounding distant.

“April fools? Oh, I hope that was intentional, I really do. When is that exactly?” 

“Nine days' time.” Bog replied without hesitation.

Marianne raised an eyebrow, finding it odd that Bog knew that date off by heart exactly, but thought no more of it. “Well, we can always go to one and if it is a complete disaster, we never have to leave the house again.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Bog smiled, folding the leaflet and slipping it into his pocket, his mind wandering elsewhere.

***

Later that day, Bog unfolded the leaflet and stared at it for a few minutes before letting out a deep sigh. Of all the days this could have fallen on, it had to be the first of April.

It wasn’t the townspeople's fault, they weren’t to know he had a deep-rooted hatred for that peculiar date on the calendar. Still, if he was going to do anything, he’d rather get outside than spend another year cooped up and moping. 

Opening up his room's desk’s drawer, he selected a small, leather-bound book with dog-eared edges. Carefully he opened the journal, flicking through and finding that only one blank page remained.

This book had been a present given to him by his mother when he had turned twenty-one. It had been an old journal of his fathers, entirely blank except for the first page, in which his father had written a small quote in his finest handwriting _; ‘A Smooth Sea Never Made A Skilled Sailor.’_

Bog’s father had never been a sailor, nor did he much like the ocean, but he had always been insistent with stepping out of your comfort zone. In life, things were going to be hard and uneasy, but that was just life. Bog thought that was what the quote meant, though he would never get the chance to ask his father, who had died when he was a teenager from a long illness. 

Though Bog enjoyed the odd bit of writing, he preferred this private journal to be for his thoughts and feelings. Initially, when presented with the notion of writing down how he felt, Bog scoffed. After all, he was a messed-up teenager at the time who had recently suffered from loss and acne, the last thing he wanted to do was _feel_.

But, after putting pen to paper, Bog found that he had a natural talent for telling paper everything and for hours after that particular therapy session he scribbled, doodled and noted down any thought that came into his head, be it dark, humorous or utterly heart-breaking. 

Those books filled with adolescent angst were now stored in his mother’s attic, collecting dust and mould.  

The leather-bound book he now held had the responsibility of holding all these similar woes and worries, initially, he had wanted to do something productive with his writing, but the pages were soon full of concerns and complicated emotions. Especially after  _the incident._

Even the thought of it made his stomach churn and his cheeks burn with red-hot embarrassment. It had been his only brush with love and it turned out to be a complete disaster. 

Now every year, April the 1st served as a reminder of how utterly hopeless he had been, and how lonely he had become. No wonder he lived all over, caring for people’s homes when he himself could not even settle down in one. 

As he flicked through the journal, he saw page after page of long thought out letters, which would never be sent, and even earlier, sketches of a woman who would never reciprocate his feelings. Not that he had them anymore, it had been nearly nine years after all. What kept haunting Bog, was how pathetic he had been at the time, how needy he had felt. He was simply embarrassed at both his behaviour and the outcome.

Bog eyed the last page, it had been left blank purposefully for this coming year to write down how well he had progressed and how often he would think of the things that had plagued him most of his adult life. It was his personal coping mechanism, everyone's was different, even if Marianne’s catharsis may have been a bit extreme, it helped nevertheless. That being said, Bog had been filling this book out for almost a decade and he had become stuck, as if, now more than ever, he needed to stop feeling sorry for himself.

Maybe this year could be different. 

There was no law that stated he needed to write down everything and besides April the 1st was a reason to celebrate regardless, – it was his birthday. 

***

The days leading up to the meeting had passed by quickly, well, Marianne had thought so at least. Perhaps it was due to the fact she could now go outside without completely freaking out. 

Small steps, she reminded herself as she plodded down the staircase, the morning of April 1st. As a child, she was always reluctant to leave her room on April fools. She did not care to be made fun of or have any pranks played on her regardless if there considered funny. 

She had been caught out only once at school as a teenager and that was enough. It had probably been harmless looking back, though at the time it didn’t feel that way. It had been Phoebe, Pat Plum's niece, who had merely jested that Marianne’s dad was called into the Principle's office due to her not handing in the latest class assignment. The girl wasn’t to know that the real reason he had been called in was to explain that Marianne’s mother would no longer be a part of the Parent Teachers Association as she had left her family behind and would soon be filing for a divorce.

Rumours circulated and spurned on by Marianne’s outburst had resulted in the whole town knowing their private business. It was then Marianne started putting up her walls.

She pulled a clean bowl of the drying rack and grabbed her usual cereal, pouring in the milk slowly and ceremoniously. She was putting the lid back on when the phone rang, its erratic rings signalling for it to be picked up. 

No one had called since Dawn and thankfully she had only received messages on her mobile, mainly from distant friends who were going to be bridesmaids, annoyed that their opportunity to dance with wealthy businessmen was now non-existent and Roland - though Marianne ignored all of these. 

Marianne waited, not knowing what to do. Should she pick up the phone? What if Roland was on the other line? Though she liked to think she was stronger than when she first came home, the thought of talking to him physically made her sick. The phone beeped – she had waited too long.

The answering machine whirred to life and a voice called out, leaving a message.

“Bog?! It’s your mother, perhaps you remember me, I am the one who gave birth to you after all!”

Marianne snickered and edged closer to hear the remainder of the message, spurred on by curiosity.

“I know you left me this number in case of emergencies, but you leave so many numbers it would just make my life easier if you answered your mobile once in a while. I am an old woman, I can’t keep up with everything you do-” The voicemail machine cut the voice off, which prompted another ring which Marianne didn’t answer and the voice continued on as if nothing had happened.

“Anyway, the reason I am calling is I don’t want you celebrating another birthday alone, it was all well and good when you were in your twenties, but we haven’t celebrated since your twenty-first and you’ll be thirty this year! I know you don’t like your birthday, I didn’t choose to have it fall on April fools you know-” The voice sighed deeply, “I just worry, it’s my job as a mother.” 

The voice somewhat cheerily added a goodbye and the phone went dead once more. After Marianne was sure that Bog’s mother would not ring for a third time, she processed the information she had just received. 

Three things she was sure of:

1) Bog’s mother was hilarious and Marianne wished she could meet her. 

2) Bog didn’t like his birthday, for whatever reason.

3) Today was Bog’s birthday. 

Marianne returned to the kitchen, putting the milk in the fridge and placing a spoon in her now soggy breakfast. She wondered why Bog hadn’t mentioned it was his birthday, how old did his mother say he was, thirty? Was that why he didn’t want to celebrate? He didn’t like the idea of getting older? Marianne could relate, sure she was twenty-three but with every year more responsibility was forced on her. The concept of ‘adulting’ was not appealing as it had been when she was five.

An idea began to stir in her mind, maybe she could bake a cake for Bog, he was a foodie after all, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Even if it turned out to be a disaster, he’d appreciate the thought. He had been so kind to her and he had become the closest thing to a real friend she had in years. Sure, she had Thom and Steffy, but Thom was so easily distracted by everything and Steffy was more of a motherly figure, as much as she’d deny it. 

Of course, there was Dawn too, but Marianne knew she hadn’t been great to her sister recently. She felt like she had thrown all her attention at Roland while they had been dating, ignoring her sister and now she had left Dawn with the responsibility to cancel HER wedding. She was surprised Dawn still loved her as much as she did. 

Munching on the last dregs of cereal, Marianne cleared up her breakfast things and went upstairs, pondering on what gift to get Bog. It wasn’t until she was nearly at her door when his opened and Bog trudged out, yawning as he did so.

“Morning.” Marianne said with a smile, but she noted that it was weird for Bog not to be up before her, he was an early bird after all.

“Mornin’.” He grunted, running his fingers through his hair and stretching. He must have noticed how Marianne was looking at him, a devilish twinkle in her amber eyes.

“What is it?” Bog asked, subconsciously looking down even though he was fully dressed and there were no fallen towels in sight.

“Nothing, nothing.” Marianne dismissed, “I need to run into town to do a few errands-”

“Oh, would you like me to tag along?” 

“No!” She almost shouted, but then laughed it off awkwardly, “It’s err, girly things.” She whispered the last two words to emphasise their importance, Bog seemed to get the idea, his cheeks blushing a light pink. 

“I’ll be back around dinner, then we can head off to the town meeting?” Marianne suggested, using this as a cover.

Bog grinned, though it looked a little forced and nodded. Within the next ten minutes, she was ready and walking down towards the town, making a mental list as her trainers hit the floor. 

The town was its relatively quiet self with the townsfolk going about their business, Marianne joined in with their peaceful stride, debating what cake she could make, play it safe or try something adventurous? She was settling on the idea of a Victoria Sponge when a shriek across the green startled her.

Marianne looked over and saw Thom jogging towards her, a handyman belt dangling from his waist and electric screwdriver in hand.

“Whoa Thom,” Marianne warned, “You’ll poke someone’s eye out.” 

Thom laughed, though it came out as a few gasps and wheezes for breath. “You coming tonight Marianne? Leaflets were sent out about a week ago.”

“The meeting? Oh yeah, Bog and I will be there, maybe.”

“Ah good, good good good...” Thom trailed off.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, nothing... nothing is wrong... Per se... It's just...” 

“Thom.” Marianne said sternly.

“I don’t gossip, Marianne,, you know that, but Mrs Addington told me that she went for tea with Mrs Goody and Mrs Marlee, and they overheard Miss Perry talk to her friend Mrs Quinton that Perry’s sister’s friend, who works at the Fae Mart overheard Pat Plume say that at the meeting tonight she wanted to open up a discussion about you.”

“About me? Why?”

“I don’t know, but Steffy thinks it’s because she wants information.”

“Urgh, that woman.”

“I thought you liked Steffy?” 

“Not Steffy, Plum! This is exactly the reason why I did not want to start coming back to these stupid meetings.”

“They aren’t that bad, sure the first twenty minutes can be a drag but after that it’s fun.”

Marianne sighed, she was furious but she didn’t want poor Thom to get the brunt of her anger. “You’re too good for this world Thom, you know that. Thanks for letting me know.”

“I’ve been told.” Thom commented before the two went their separate ways. Marianne, who had originally been planning to head to the Fae Mart decided it was better to take a detour to Steffy’s. 

The bell chimed and she quickly made her way to the counter, a young girl with dark hair raised her head from her phone as Marianne approached and with the speed of a sloth, tucked the phone in her jeans pocket and asked what she would like to order. 

“I’d like to see Steffy, is she in?”

“Is it business related?” The girl asked as if she had rehearsed the response. “She takes business meetings only when pre-arranged and-”

“Alright, Elizabeth that’s enough.” Steffy said, shooing the girl away from the counter. “Why don’t you take a break and check your apps.”

With an eye roll and a shrug, Elizabeth slouched off towards the back, the sound of the back door opening and slamming was an indication that she was gone.

“Is she new?” Marianne asked as Steffy poured her a brew. 

“Not really, she’s worked here for the last couple of months. She’s Mr and Mrs Lacertilia’s daughter, you know the couple who run the local library. They thought she was going through a rebellious phrase and forced her to work somewhere that isn’t the library, so I ended up with her. Good kid when she isn’t attached to her phone.” 

Marianne remembered the Lacertilia’s. They were a nice family who openly participated in most events held in Faewood Hollow, Marianne also remembered Elizabeth who was the eldest of their brood. She must be seventeen now, as Marianne recalled her as a small, smiling infant running around with enough energy to power the town itself. Marianne was grateful her teenage years were behind her, she did not envy Elizabeth one little bit.

The coffee shop was practically empty and the customers that were in were far too busy reading the daily newspaper to listen in on their conversation. So, when Steffy sat down in the seat opposite Marianne, passing her a warm cup of coffee, she openly discussed what Thom had just warned her about. 

“She thinks you’ve been avoiding her on purpose.” Steffy explained, “Phoebe didn’t help, going on about how you’ve run off with the house sitter.” 

“Firstly, How can I run off with Bog if I met him a few weeks ago - after Roland? Secondly, how can I 'run off' to my own house?" 

“It’s a stupid rumour, it doesn’t have to have logic, just steam.” 

“So tonight, I am going to have to tell the entire town why I am back just because Pat Plum is a nosy so and so?”

Steffy nodded, “It looks that way, sorry kiddo.”

“I’m sure this isn’t how Bog wanted to spend his birthday.” 

“It’s his birthday?”

“Yeah, but he didn’t tell me, I found out through his mum, well rather a message she left on the answering machine. He’s thirty.”

“Not too old for you then.” 

Marianne could feel her cheeks get hot, though she was certain that was the caffeine coursing through her system. Steffy laughed and took a swig of her own drink. 

“Is he doing anything then?” Steffy asked, changing the subject.

“I don’t think so, as I said, he didn’t tell me so either he doesn’t want to celebrate it or he doesn’t want me around.” 

“I highly doubt it’s the second option, Princess.”

Marianne lent on her hands, “Do you think I should make him a cake?”

“Do  _you_ think you should make him a cake?”

“Helpful.” Marianne sneered, “Well, I think it’s the least I can do for him, he’s done a lot for me these last few weeks, I should return the favour.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to use the back room to make it, I’ll root around for some candles, bound to have some lying in one the drawers.”

“You’re the best Steffy.” Marianne said, draining the last of her drink and getting to her feet.

The rest of the afternoon was comprised of eyeing supermarket shelves for cake mix and icing. For a supermarket that was supposed to stock everything, the cake department seemed to be lacking. Marianne had, on more than one occasion, seen Pat Plum, who was supposed to be restocking shelves but decided that was beneath her, so Marianne sneaked around to avoid any confrontation. Whoever was manning the security cameras must have been having a good laugh at her expense. 

After quickly navigating her way through checkout, Marianne was half-walking half-jogging back to Steffy’s, ingredients banging about in their paper bags as she clutched the contents to her chest, afraid the jam might fly out an unsuspecting Faewood Hollow citizen. 

As the clock ticked towards sunset, Marianne stepped back with a proud smile on her face. Though covered with flour and god-knows-what-else, the cake hadn’t turned out bad at all. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOG!” was iced out in careful blue streaks of sugar. After checking her watch and cleaning herself up best she could, Marianne was heading home, the cake carefully parcelled up and awaiting to eaten. 

With enough stealth to make a jewellery thief jealous, she crept up to her room and hid the cake under her jacket while she took a shower to get the remaining flour out of her hair. As she was getting dressed, it dawned on her that she had not got Bog a present or card. 

She knew the cake would suffice, but she didn’t want to just present him with a cake, not after all the effort he put in for her. She threw herself on her bed and racked her brain for ideas, the town was closing up as she left and by now all the store lights would be switched off ready for the night ahead. 

Her only salvation was the books that littered her walls, she knew Bog liked reading, she had caught him with a book and they had already shared a few words on different titles and genres. But what to get a man she barely knew? Her hands glided over the rammed walls, surveying the varying artworks and spines of each individual book. Then, a plain spine caught her eye. She pulled it out with ease, feeling the weight of it against her palm as she flicked through the pages, crisp, untouched parchment turning as she moved her thumb towards the back cover. 

It was a journal, deep purple in colour and made out of fine leather. It was originally gifted to her as an engagement present by a distant relative, Marianne had appreciated the gift but had not found the time to use it. There was no sin in regifting, after all, an item was better off living its life with someone else instead of collecting dust. 

Marianne smiled to herself, she thought perhaps Bog could write about his time housesitting, she could see him, poised at a writing desk, pen in one hand and scratching his chin with the other trying to think of witty antidotes to write down for keeps.

It was then a knock came from the other side of her door, stuffing the journal underneath the jacket where it sat on top of the packaged cake, Marianne swung open the door to see Bog standing there, wearing loose-fitting shirt and trousers.

“I didn’t hear you come back in.” He commented, “was wondering if you wanted something to eat?” 

“Sure, could you just give me a minute? I’ll be downstairs in a jiffy.”

When she heard Bog’s footsteps on the stairs and the clash of pots and pans, Marianne excitably picked up the cake, stuffed the journal under her arm and made her way down the stairs. 

“What is that?” Bog queried as she placed the box down in front of him with a triumphant grin.

“Open it!” 

“Ok...” He said, lifting off the white lid so that the cardboard sides naturally fell open. His expression was hard to read, but finally, after a moment, he looked up at Marianne.

“How did you know?”

“The voicemail your mother left.”

Bog groaned, “I’m sorry you had to hear her ranting. Typical that she would ring the one morning I decided to have a lie in. Thank you, Marianne, you really didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“Bog it’s your birthday, it should be celebrated. I’ll admit I'm kinda sad you didn’t tell me.”

“I had my reasons.” Bog stated, looking down at the cake before back to Marianne, “Silly, really, that even after all these years I don’t let myself enjoy the day I was born.” Bog laughed but there was a tinge of something in the chuckle and Marianne couldn’t quite put her finger on it. 

“Since you told me about what happened to you, it’s only fair that I told you what happened to me,” Bog started but Marianne cut him off.

“Only if you want to, you do not have to do something you feel pressured by. I told you because I felt comfortable and-”

“I feel comfortable with you.” Bog said with a small smile that Marianne returned.

“Alright," Marianne said, sitting down. "go on.”

“It was my twenty-first, I was never one to really go full out for birthdays or anything like that, but I felt that year was different. I had been dating this girl for almost a year and that night we were going to her favourite restaurant. She had complained why we were going to hers, not mine, but I couldn’t tell her the reason. Not yet anyway. I had a friend, really a best friend, and he was going to be meeting up with us later on in the evening. No one knew my plan, not even my mother and I was so sure I had every little detail worked out perfectly.” 

Bog sighed and interlinked his long, crooked fingers. “The beginning of the night was a success, we had our food and everything was going according to plan. That’s when I asked her to marry me. Right there and then as we ate dessert. I remember her face, remember the shaking of her head and her hand reaching over to close mine that held the ring.” 

“She started to apologise, she kept apologising. Kept saying how she had ‘meant to tell me’ and it 'wasn't my fault' and that she couldn't marry me with all this guilt she had been carrying around. The guilt of sleeping... _repeatedly_ with my best friend. I felt so humiliated, I clenched the ring so tightly in my hand that I cut the skin,” Bog showed Marianne his palm and there in the centre was a small ring of raised skin, pale against his own. “As much as I wanted to forget it, it kept coming back to haunt me, I couldn’t escape. I got in a bad spiral, but before I did anything really stupid, I took a job that required me to leave town, it was my first house-sitting gig and I never looked back.” 

“Bog, I... I had no idea.”

“I’m better now, but I still cringe at it. So, whenever April Fools comes around, I get a bit... bothered.” He chewed the last word, knowing it didn’t sound right, but Marianne understood. It was hard to put things into words sometimes, sometimes emotions were just meant to be felt, rather than explained. 

Marianne reached over the counter and grabbed Bog’s hand. The motion caused the journal which had been tucked under her arm to fall to the kitchen floor with a thud. Startled, Marianne picked it up, returning upright, a few strands of her short hair skew-whiff. 

“I er, got this for you as well.” Marianne explained, handing the journal over.  “I-”

“How did you know?” Bog asked, Marianne squinted in confusion. 

“We already had this discussion...” 

“No, the journal, I-” Bog looked from Marianne to the book. “I, I needed a new one.” 

Marianne’s surprised expression faded into a simple smile, “Well, I guess-”

A deep knock came from the front door, startling them both. To Bog’s mild astonishment, it was Marianne who answered, though most of her body remained behind the safety of the reinforced oak. 

“Thom?” She asked as she let the short man inside, but not before he cautiously wiping his feet and removed his aged flat cap.

“I was wondering if yourself and Mr. Bog would like a lift to the town meeting.”

Marianne glanced behind her to the large clock that ticked merrily away on a nearby wall. “I thought we had another hour?” Though it was a question it came out more like an annoyed sigh. 

By now Bog was beside her, greeting Thom with a nod of his head.

“Do you still want to go?” 

“I have to-” Marianne slapped the palm of her hand against her head, “I forgot to tell you about Plum, oh Bog I am sorry.” 

“What’s happened now?” Bog asked apprehensively.

“Well,” Thom began, clearing his throat, “ Mrs Addington told me-” 

“Long story short, Plum wants to know,” Marianne brought up her fingers and mimicked inverted commas, “'the deal' between us, why I am home, etc. etc.”

“The deal... between us?” Bog questioned, but was unheard by Marianne, who was now beginning to ramble.

“I was meant to tell you straight away!” Marianne groaned, putting her face in her hands dramatically. “We didn’t even have dinner, you love your food and now-”

“We can have the cake for dinner.” 

“You can’t have cake for dinner.” Marianne argued, though her frown had fallen into a small smile.

“Says who? We are adults after all. Besides, it’s my birthday. You have to be nice to me and do what I want on my birthday.”

“That is not a rule!”

“Unwritten.” Bog smirked, grabbing the cake and a knife from the drawer. “Come on, this can mark the start of new beginnings. No more running scared from things we can’t control. Ok?” 

Colour returned to Marianne’s cheeks, “Ok!”

Thom, who had witnessed the whole event unfold was confused, and he still was, even when he turned the ignition on and drove the car down towards the town with the two residents from Faegold Mansion in tow. 

***

“Order! Order!” The mayor yelled, but his commands fell on deaf ears. 

The citizens of Faewood Hollow were busy chatting amongst themselves, gossiping and catching up on the latest news from their fellow neighbours.

The mayor, an old man with a roguish beard, still with tones that matched autumn leaves sighed as he stepped away from the central podium that was positioned for him on the stage, making way for Steffy who took one look at the crowd, raised her voice for silence and the room fell into a hushed whisper.

Fumbling back to the podium, the mayor greeted everyone and read the topics that would be discussed before the open forum. Bog and Marianne sat near the front, the cake sat between them on a chair of its own, a couple of slices already missing. 

“This weekend will be Faewood Hollow’s annual Easter egg hunt. I have been reminded to tell you that real eggs are **not** be used, only chocolate ones. One of the Fern children bit into a raw egg last year... and I do not want another lecture on dental care.” The mayor muttered the last line so only a few people heard his comment, he then shifted his glasses and continued reading. “There is also a petition to change the uniforms at the Fae Mart, this will be put to a vote, all those in favour of changing the traditional uniforms, raise your hand.”

A few hands emerged from the crowd, but Marianne wasn’t one of them.

“I thought you hated those uniforms?” Bog whispered in-between munching a mixture of sponge and icing. 

“If they change the neon orange, I won’t have anything to complain about.” Marianne countered, reaching for another slice.

The mayor came to the end of his notes, shuffling the papers to indicate the next step of the evening. “Alright ladies and gentlemen, now that is out of the way we can move onto-”

A not-so-subtle throat clearance echoed out from behind him, the mayor turned and Plum gave him a sickly-sweet smile. 

“I have something to add Mayor, if you’d be so kind?”

The mayor hesitated, adjusting his glasses once more before stepping aside, letting Plum take the podium. Like a peacock, she preened in the spotlight. Though there was no spotlight and it was the parish hall that was regularly used for the weekly Zumba class.

“Here we go.” Marianne muttered, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Bog, having eaten the last slice of cake, picked up the box and slid it underneath the chair, scooting over to be seated next to Marianne. 

“It’ll be fine.” Bog added reassuringly, though he truly had no idea what could possibly happen. 

“Our little town,” Plum began, “has always been quiet, the rare drama we have is sorted out quickly, efficiently and to a point where everyone knows what is going on.”

A few hums emanated from the crowd, Marianne began fidgeting with her hands.

“Now, I am not one for gossip-” Plum said, ignorant of Steffy rolling her eyes from behind her, “but I think we would all like to know why Miss Faegold is back. The truth, from her, will clear up these nasty rumours that have been flying about.”

Plum’s eyes found Marianne in the crowd.

“Marianne? If you would be so kind as to step up here.”

Bog could feel Marianne freeze next to him, her legs stiffened as if her lower half was made of ice and any movement would surely cause her to shatter. He watched her hands clench and unclench, her breathing rapidly rise and fall. 

But before he could reach out and provide comfort as any friend would, Marianne got to her feet and made her way up the two steps that led to the stage. 

There was a small gasp from the crowd from those who had not yet seen the new look for the eldest Faegold daughter, but they soon died down when Plum began speaking.

“Would you like to start dear? Or would you prefer if we ask you questions?”

Steffy got to her feet, “This is not a witch hunt, leave the girl alone.”

“It’s alright Steffy.” Marianne said, somewhat calmly. “I got this.” 

She turned, facing out towards the crowd. “Would you mind?” Marianne asked, indicating she wanted to stand at the podium. For a split moment, Plum looked unsettled, but it soon faded into a smile as she graciously stepped aside, but did, however, return to her seat along the back of the wall. 

“Hello everyone.” Marianne began, “Apparently there has been some... rumours, so I will put them to rest now.” Marianne visibly bit her lip, trying to recall the techniques on nerves, posture and pronunciation she had learnt at a public speaking class which she had been forced her to attend when she was younger.

“Are there any questions?” 

Silence from the hall. Plum spoke up from beside her, “Perhaps you could tell us, why you are home? We all thought you were getting married.”

“Yes, I was engaged and arranged to be married, but due to  _personal_  issues the wedding will not be going ahead. The reasons why,” Marianne added, “are private between myself and my... my err... partner.” 

Bog noted how Marianne stumbled over the words at what to call that cheat bag. But he also noted that she had referred to him as a partner, perhaps their relationship was still on? Bog made a mental note he should really ask her instead of driving himself insane. 

As if inspired by Plum’s question, or merely shameful at the thought of going first, more hands snaked upwards. Mainly from older ladies whose favourite pastimes were to read celebrity gossip magazines featuring famous people they had never even heard of. 

Marianne answered every question that was thrown at her with diligence and carefulness. She did not reveal too much information, just enough to satisfy the person who had initially raised their hand.

The mayor, who like Steffy and Bog had remained uncomfortable throughout the intense and, what he personally believed, pointless questioning, indicated that one more question would be asked and then it was time to call the meeting to an end.

Before Marianne could pick someone from the crowd, as if she was on a panel rather than up for judgement, Plum stepped forward, hands folded in front of her sky-blue dress. 

“What is the relationship between you and your house sitter; Bog King?”

All eyes shifted from Marianne to Bog who had remained silently seated. 

Marianne too let her eyes on fall on Bog, who returned her gaze. "It is just that. He is my house sitter." Upon finishing, she left the podium, returning to her seat and collecting her coat as the mayor called it a night and thanked everyone for their attendance. As Bog was putting on his own coat, the mayor came up to them while Thom happily stacked the chairs to the far side of the hall, ready for the next morning’s painting class.

“Marianne,” The mayor said bowing his head, “I am so sorry for Plum’s behaviour, I shouldn’t have let that happen, but under section 5 paragraph 26 of-”

“Mayor Chip it’s fine.” Marianne stated, “It’s better it happened and out of the way. Bad for business and all that.”

“You handled it extremely well, I see you have your fathers’ public speaking ability, speaking of your father, I know the topic is sensitive, but will he be coming back any time soon... given the, err, circumstances?” 

“Honestly, I don’t know. I wouldn’t worry though, I don’t think your boss will be back tomorrow or anything.”

“Phew!” The mayor mocked, pretending to wipe the perspire from his already glowing forehead, “Just a lot of papers to get done, it isn’t easy being mayor in this town you know.”

“You’re the best man for the job,” Marianne added reassuringly, “it’s why you’ve been mayor for the last twenty years.”

“Eighteen.” He automatically corrected, “Not that I am counting. I best be off, if you need anything, either of you,” He gestured in Bog’s direction, “do not hesitate to get in contact with me.”

“Thank you, mayor, goodnight.”

***

Marianne was quiet for the first few minutes as they walked back towards the mansion, the stars twinkled overhead as their footsteps created the only sound between them.

Bog chewed over what he could say, today had been a whirlwind, but thankfully not the bad sort. 

He pressed the empty cake box closer to his chest as he walked in step with Marianne, her faint breathing rivalling his as they made their way up the slope towards the house. He found talking with Marianne easy most of the time, but sometimes, when he overthought it, it became a challenge. 

“I-” 

“I feel like such an arse.” Marianne blurted out, shoving her hands into her jacket and sighing deeply, her breath catching on the cold air.

“Why?” Bog asked, genuinely confused but guessing that is was probably related to the hoo-hah of the town meeting. Never before had he seen anything like it, not even on late-night cable shows.

“There is a list,” Marianne announced, taking a deep inhale of breath before continuing, “I've been thinking about it since we left, it’s just, everything that has happened and I escape back here, only to be put on trial, and it’s not like I did anything bad, except run away and not tell anyone and make my family spend thousands on me.” Marianne took another deep breath, her voice slightly shaky, “Then I make you sit through said trial for your bloody birthday. It’s like, I don’t want it to be all about me, but it always will be, I can’t get away from it. ARGH!” 

“If it's any consolation, this is the best birthday I have had in a while.”

“You’re just saying that.”

Bog didn’t have to respond to make Marianne realise that he did mean it, given the story he had shared early, she promptly apologised.

“In all seriousness," Bog went on, "it was hard to watch them...  _question_  you like that.” 

For Bog this was true, he had been sitting there watching Marianne, he could see how her hands had gripped the edges of the podium so tightly her knuckles became white. The whole thing reminded Bog of those attending court, when the press swarm in and attack with question after question. 

“It’s happened before.” Marianne said, kicking a loose stone that was in her path.

“Seriously?” 

“It was when my mum left, the thought of abrupt change had apparently unsettled some of the townsfolk, worried that we would all leave. If the Faegold’s left Faewood Hollow, then it’s bad for business, a lot of the money, be it for fundraising or local events, comes from the Faegold’s own pocket so to speak.” 

“That’s no reason to pry into someone’s life though?”

“Dawn went through a stage of reading those fashion magazines with all the celebrities in, they all go through similar things. In the eye's of the town's people; we are the celebrities, we are the entertainment.” 

“That’s...”

“It’s just is what it is, it’s always happened, one of the reasons I was forced into public speaking classes. It’s weird because, on one hand, I'm relieved that it's out in the open, though Pat Plum might want to suck me dry for the juicy details, on the other hand, it’s just annoying that I can’t live my life without it being thrusted into the semi-spotlight.”

Marianne was silent for a while after that, not speaking until she had kicked off her shoes and switched on the light, illuminating the kitchen. 

“Shall I make us something?” She asked, opening up the fridge and peeking inside, scanning the contents with a raised eyebrow.

“We finished off an entire cake between ourselves.”

“Like that was ever going to be a challenge.” Marianne muttered under her breath, loud enough for Bog to hear and laugh at. “Besides,” Marianne continued, “You do love your food.” 

 

 *

 

As the night slowly crept into the early hours and it was no longer his birthday, Bog found himself lying awake on his cotton sheets, spewing them around him as he stared longingly up at the ceiling. 

Life had always been a rocky road, an uneven path from A to B, always looking for the next place to go. Now? Now Bog enjoyed being in Faewood Hollow, there was something about this location that he couldn’t shake as if he felt entangled with it somehow. 

After observing the ceiling for over an hour, Bog pulled out the journal gifted to him, running his hand down the inward spine to crease the page in place. With a trusty pen, he began to pour words onto the page, their cursive fonts filling corner to corner, in an attempt to figure out why he was slowly falling in love with this place after such a short amount of time. 

He ruled out the townspeople themselves, their behaviour tonight had caught him off guard, though some members of the community were pleasant enough. The town itself was beautiful, with a quirky charm entwined with every brick laid and every flower planted. Perhaps, Bog thought to himself, that it was this house. He had, after all, never lived in one so grand.

Or maybe, it was who lived in the house with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologises for being slow with this update, so this is extra long to make up for it!


End file.
